Remembering Paris
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: After twelve years of a loving but increasingly staid marriage, Harold Hill and Marian Paroo rediscover their ardor during a "second honeymoon" trip to France. But to Marian's chagrin, what happens in Paris doesn't always stay in Paris...
1. Opening Pandora's Box

For a woman who'd been married for over twelve years, Marian Paroo Hill did an awful lot of blushing.

Yet this hadn't always been the case; it was only since she had returned from Paris that she had started to revive this irritating habit. Marriage to Harold, coupled with the birth of two girls who were far more adventurous and forward than she would ever dare to be, soon cured Marian of her maidenly innocence. Certainly, she retained the vestiges of primness that had always defined her character, but life with her vivacious husband and daughters had taught her just how enjoyable – and right – it could be to flout the stifling strictures of propriety.

Still, Marian prided herself on being the anchor and the moral compass of her family, ensuring that good sense and decency were maintained amidst the madness of their grand schemes and dizzying dreams. In one of their many moments of levity, Harold joked that their family could be likened to a hurricane: he and the girls were the whirling winds, and she was the serene eye at the center of the storm. Marian had laughed and rolled her eyes, but secretly, she thought it an apt comparison. And she imagined that many of the River City-ziens, had they been familiar with this particular force of nature, would have agreed with this assessment.

But that all changed on the warm day in the middle of May when Marian and Harold boarded the train for their trip to Paris. Since they were leaving on an evening train and wouldn't arrive to New York City until the next morning, Harold had insisted on booking a private compartment. Ever frugal, even when faced with the prospect of a second honeymoon, Marian had urged her husband to forgo such luxuries to keep their expenses down. But he waved away her objections, telling her he hadn't been saving up for this vacation for the last several years to begin skimping on comfort now. And since he had never taken her on a proper honeymoon tour, he meant to make up for it by traveling in the grandest style they could afford.

Touched by the lengths he had gone to plan a romantic getaway, Marian dropped the issue – in her years of marriage and motherhood, she had also learned the wisdom of choosing her battles wisely. And when the door to their compartment closed behind them, she was grateful for her husband's foresight. Marian hadn't traveled so great a distance on a train since she and her family had come to River City from Cincinnati all those years ago and, as exciting an experience as it was, it was also a bit nerve-wracking.

Harold began to draw the shades to give them even more privacy, but Marian motioned for him to leave them open for the time being; she had never traveled so far from home, and didn't want to miss a single sight. But as she stared out the windows, eagerly noting every landmark they passed, she felt herself start to nod off. Harold, ever attentive to his wife's state of being, led her away from the window and maneuvered her into a lying position on the couchette. Marian let him move her without protest; by then, the sun was sinking below the horizon, and it was getting too dark to see much of anything.

Exhausted, she fell asleep as soon as her head came to rest on the pillow Harold had placed on the seat for her. The steady motion of the train was as soporific as being lulled to sleep in a mother's arms; Marian slept soundly for the next several hours. It wasn't until the train went over a particularly rough patch of track that she was jolted awake.

Bewildered, Marian sat up and assessed her surroundings. The first thing she noted was that the shades were still open; the sun had just started to rise, bathing the sky in the pale, rosy light of early morning. Looking around the compartment, she spied Harold's suit-coat draped on the couchette opposite hers. Stretching out her arm, Marian managed to snag his jacket by the sleeve and bring it to her. Checking the front pockets, she located and retrieved her husband's watch. It was four fifteen – only three more hours until they arrived to New York City.

But why wasn't Harold on the other couchette, along with his suit-coat? Turning around, she saw he had ensconced himself in the space between her pillow and the wall. Despite sitting upright, he was sound asleep, his head lolling against the back of the seat.

Normally, Marian would have awakened him immediately; it wouldn't do to let him stay in such a cramped position. But her breath caught at the sight of her husband, and she could only stare at him. He had loosened his tie a bit and rolled up his sleeves, and a few errant locks of hair were tumbling over his forehead. By now, Marian was quite used to seeing Harold in such a state of undress, but something about this situation made her heart beat faster. Perhaps it was because even though they were behind closed doors, they were still in public.

Certainly, Marian was no longer the wide-eyed innocent she had been when she first married Harold, but she had always attempted to maintain an appropriate decorum while they were in public. Still, there were times when even she found decorum tiresome. And they were alone – the door to their compartment was locked and, even if it wasn't, everyone else on the train was likely to be asleep. Who would ever know if she bestowed a little well-deserved affection on the man she loved? Leaning in and brushing her lips against his, Marian coaxed her husband awake with gentle kisses.

At first, Harold flinched at her touch, but when he opened his eyes and realized what was happening, he gave her a broad smile. "Well, that's an awfully nice way to wake up," he said appreciatively. "What brought that on?"

"I thought you would be more comfortable stretching out on the other couchette for a few hours, until we get to New York," Marian replied, sensible even in her impulsivity. "Sleeping in a sitting position isn't good for one's back or neck."

Harold's arms encircled her waist. "The other couchette would indeed have been more comfortable," he agreed. "But also a lot lonelier."

"Oh, Harold," she scolded – though her amused smile ruined the effect.

"Well, being seated next to you as you reclined was the only way we could both fit on one couchette," he said in a teasing voice.

Even after so many years of marriage, Harold still enjoyed his little game of trying to turn her cheeks crimson. And he might just have succeeded in this instance – if Marian had been in a blushing mood. But she most decidedly was not. Perhaps it was giddiness at the prospect of carefree days ahead, or excitement at being this alone with her husband for the first time since the birth of their daughters, or even the dizzying sense of freedom that came from realizing not a soul on that train knew who they were. Whatever the reason, Marian was suddenly feeling quite brazen.

She raised an eyebrow at her husband's ribald remark. "Is that the only way, indeed?" she asked archly. "What a shame."

To her delight, Harold's eyes widened, and his jaw actually dropped. "Marian," he said wonderingly.

"Well, you did say you wanted to take me on a _proper_ honeymoon tour," she reasoned, giving him a sly smile as her fingers slowly but deftly undid his bowtie.

It didn't take Harold long to get into the spirit of things. "That I did," he agreed with a grin, his mouth descending over hers as his hands made quick work of the buttons on the front of her blouse.

Even after they had disembarked from the train, cheeks still flushed from their exertions and clothes slightly rumpled, Marian felt no shame. After all, it really was no different than if they had stayed in a hotel room together. And it was delicious, the way Harold kept looking at her with an expression of dazed amazement. She had always been the predictable, steady presence in their relationship, and she was finding it extremely enjoyable to thwart her husband's expectations.

So Marian had continued behaving in a bold, unconventional manner while they were in Paris. Knowing no one, she felt immense freedom to indulge in liberties she would not have dreamed of taking while in River City; one of her first acts when they arrived to the City of Lights was to go to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré and purchase a few daring, fashionable dresses that would have made Mrs. Shinn and her ladies faint, should they have seen her thus clothed. Harold, of course, applauded his wife's newfound flapper tendencies and convinced her to complete her new ensembles with hats, gloves and shoes. With her blonde bob and still-slender figure, Marian looked as stunning as any Parisian woman and, with her elegant French, surprised and disappointed many a Frenchman when she revealed she was not only an American, but married, as well.

But as much as Marian enjoyed herself with Harold, she expected things would go back to normal once they had returned to River City. With her many responsibilities and scrupulous reputation to maintain, she couldn't engage in the idle frivolity of the flapper lifestyle indefinitely. Nor did she desire to do so; as their time together in Paris drew to a close, the librarian was looking forward to getting back to her regular routines. So when she and Harold returned home, Marian put her stylish dresses and other accessories into storage, and resumed her usual modest attire and demeanor.

But Harold seemed to have other ideas. He began showing up at the library every night to walk her home – often escorting her there by way of the footbridge. Sometimes he even visited her during the afternoons, whisking her off to a dim corner on some flimsy pretext so he could whisper heated endearments and steal breathless kisses. Though Marian knew it was silly for a woman of her age to be so thrilled by such gestures, she couldn't help reveling in Harold's attentions; she hadn't felt this giddy since they had courted all those years ago.

Of course, Marian was aware there were certain River City-ziens (or "jealous old cats," as Harold liked to say) who deemed it undignified that a man and woman who had been married as long as they should carry on like a couple of lovesick teenagers. But Marian refused to let this bother her; as long as she and Harold kept their ardor behind closed doors, it was no one's affair but their own.

However, the librarian was finding, to her great chagrin, that she and her husband had vastly different ideas about what "behind closed doors" meant.

One evening in early September, when Marian was washing the dinner dishes, she felt a pair of hands firmly grasp her hips and trail unabashedly lower, giving her a brazen pinch before coming to rest on the curve of her thighs.

"Harold!" she remonstrated, moving away. "Rather bold of you, don't you think?"

But he only laughed and slid his arms around her waist. "If a man can't goose his wife in the privacy of his own kitchen, then where can he indulge in such luxuries, my dear little librarian?"

"Where are Penny and Elly?" Marian asked in a pointed voice.

"Happily indisposed – I sent them off to the movies," he said nonchalantly, dropping a kiss on the curve of her neck.

"On a school night?" she said disapprovingly. "You spoil the girls too much, Harold."

Marian felt him shrug. "Why can't they go to the movies? They've finished their assignments. And I gave them strict instructions to be home by bedtime."

He continued his teasing and tickling of her neck with his lips. With a laugh, Marian scooted out of his embrace. "Harold, at least let me finish the dishes first!"

Harold caught her hand and spun her around to face him. "Madam Librarian, we have three hours, possibly four," he said in his low, velvety voice. "And I don't intend to waste a single second." To prove his point, he turned her hand over, lifted it to his lips and planted a gentle kiss on her upturned palm. From there, his mouth traced a languid path to her wrist.

Letting out a soft sigh, Marian surrendered willingly to her husband's ministrations – though she couldn't help eying the unfinished dishes. She knew from past experience that Harold did indeed intend to make use of every minute they had alone together and, though she eagerly anticipated his caresses, it wouldn't do for her to neglect her duties.

Sensing his wife's reticence, Harold dropped her hand with a sigh. "Marian, are the dishes really that important, right now?"

"If I leave the dishes, the food will set into them, and they'll take even longer to clean," she replied with a touch of exasperation in her voice. "And what kind of example would I be setting for the girls, should they come home and see a sink full of dirty dishes still sitting there, several hours after supper?"

After Marian said this, she braced herself for her husband's retort – they had been having these types of arguments often since their return from Paris – but Harold's shoulders slumped. "Very well, then," he said tersely, and left the kitchen.

For once, Marian had won, but it wasn't a victory she relished. It wasn't like Harold to cede without a fuss, and his strange behavior worried her. Anxious to make amends, she hastily completed the dishes and sought out her miffed husband.

Marian came upon Harold in the parlor; he was sitting in his favorite armchair and reading the paper, as if nothing was amiss. When he gave no indication he had heard her approach, she cleared her throat.

"Yes, dear?" Harold asked in a nonchalant voice, lowering the newspaper slightly so he could peek at her over the top of it.

"I've finished the dishes," she said shyly, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks.

Harold gave her a vague smile. "That's nice," he said absently, and went back to his paper.

If they had been in Paris, Marian wouldn't have hesitated to march right over, tear the newspaper from his hands, and give him a searing kiss to let him know she meant business. But since their arrival home, she had lost the nerve to attempt anything so brazen.

So Marian resorted to her usual coy hints. "I think I'll retire for the evening."

"You do that," her husband agreed, still ensconced behind his newspaper.

Marian's irritation overruled her timidity. "Well, aren't you going to join me?" she snapped.

"How can a man resist such an invitation, especially when uttered in such sweet, dulcet tones?" he said sardonically. Harold lowered the paper, and she saw he looked as annoyed as she had sounded. "But are you sure there isn't some other chore you have to finish first?"

"Not at the moment," she replied coolly, her eyes narrowing. "But I can find one, if you want. Cleaning up after you and Penny and Elly is a full-time job in itself!" Harold opened his mouth to respond, but Marian breezed over his protests. "And let me remind you, Professor Hill, I do that in addition to looking after the library, as well as all the hours I put in at the music emporium, helping you! What do you do outside the emporium but come home and eat the dinner I've prepared, console the girls with kisses after I've rightfully scolded them, give them treats and send them to the movies without even consulting me first – and then, when I don't immediately fall into your arms at the end of a long and tiring day, march in here and sulk behind that darn newspaper?"

Marian meant to deliver the last sentence in a blistering tone, but her voice cracked. Furious at herself for displaying such vulnerability, she turned and went back into the kitchen before she lost even more control.

As she gripped the edge of the counter, tears streaming down her cheeks, Harold came up behind her and drew her into his arms. "Forgive me, Marian," he said contritely. "I truly am grateful for everything you do for our family, even if I don't always say so. You're a wonderful mother, a wonderful librarian, a wonderful second-in-command at the emporium." He sighed. "But sometimes, darling, I wish you would just be my wife."

Marian, who had been about to apologize for losing her temper, pulled out of her husband's embrace and whirled around to face him. "And what, precisely, do you mean by that?" she asked, her eyes flashing with anger. When he didn't answer right away, she went on, "Perhaps I might have delayed our embraces, but when have I ever refused you outright?"

Harold shifted uncomfortably; from his rueful expression, it was clear he regretted bringing up the subject at all. "You haven't," he concurred – though he averted his eyes from her sharp gaze. "I know how busy you are, and I should have been more understanding about the dishes earlier. I should have been more understanding about a lot of things. I will be in the future, I can promise you that."

It would have been so easy for Marian to accept his apology and change the subject, but her pride wouldn't allow her to let his remark pass with no further challenge. And the bitterness in his voice alarmed her; as difficult and awkward as it was to broach such a delicate topic, she refused to live with a resentful husband. "Obviously, you aren't happy with me, Harold," she said in a measured, straightforward tone, striving to keep her own resentment at bay, "and I want to know why."

Harold met her gaze again, and Marian was startled to see a pained look in his eyes. "I just… want you, Marian," he said earnestly, his voice heavy with emotion. "I want you all to myself occasionally, if that's not too much to ask."

Stunned, Marian gaped at her husband. "You do have me."

Harold shook his head. "Not entirely. I want all of you, Marian; not you with one ear trained to the phone lest someone call with tales of the twins' misdeeds, not you with one eye casting worried glances at unfinished chores." He stepped closer to her. "I want to hear you moan when we make love – or sigh, or shout, or wail, as the mood suits you. I miss the way you used to let yourself go with me, the way you did in Paris."

"In Paris, we were alone," she whispered, close to tears.

"We're alone now," he gently countered.

Undone by the pleading look in her husband's eyes, Marian wrapped her arms around him. "Harold, I want you just as much as I ever have," she shyly confessed. "Even if I don't always say so."

"Oh, darling," he breathed, and gave her a fiercely passionate kiss.

When they broke apart, gasping for breath, Marian expected to see a triumphant smile on Harold's face, or perhaps a mischievous gleam in his eyes. But he simply looked at her with sheer longing. "Marian," he said solemnly, "do you know that I love you even more than I did twelve years ago when I first brought you home as my bride?"

Unable to think of an equally moving response to such a heartfelt declaration, Marian kissed him. But that was eloquent enough for Harold; with a groan, he pressed closer to her. As his hands feverishly roamed her body, she wrapped her leg around his hip. He immediately caressed her thigh, which made her moan and arch her back against him. Soon his hand slipped beneath her dress, his fingers fumbling impatiently with her garters as he attempted to unfasten them.

Her sense of decorum getting the better of her again, Marian's lips parted from his. "Perhaps we ought to continue this upstairs," she suggested.

"Are you sure, Madam Librarian?" he asked archly as he began to roll down her stocking. "We are alone in the house, after all… "

"We're not _that_ alone," she laughed, covering his hand with hers. "Suppose the girls were to come home early?"

Harold sighed and stopped undressing her. Marian steeled herself for another argument, but before she could say anything, he swept her up in his arms and whisked her up the stairs to their bedroom.


	2. Setting a Good Example

Normally, Marian would have insisted upon dressing shortly after they had finished making love, but with the twins not due to return home for another hour, she decided to allow herself the luxury of lying entwined in her husband's arms for a little while longer. Surprisingly, it was Harold who was the one to end their embrace and get out of bed.

"Darling?" Marian ventured, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she watched him don his robe.

"Don't go anywhere just yet, my dear little librarian," Harold assured her with the manic enthusiasm that always colored his voice when he was struck by an exciting new idea. "I just thought of the perfect end-note to a lovely evening… "

Marian knew there was no stopping him when he got like this. Sighing good-naturedly, she lay back down and waited for her husband to return with whatever it was he had in mind.

Indeed, it wasn't long before Harold reappeared with two tumblers and a bottle of something that looked suspiciously familiar.

Marian gasped. "Harold, is that – wine?"

"Pinot Noir, all the way from Burgundy," he confirmed, looking awfully pleased with himself as he uncorked the bottle and poured a little of its contents into a glass. Beaming, he presented the tumbler to her and poured one for himself. "As I recall, you enjoyed this one quite a bit."

Marian's stomach curdled as the familiar, voluptuous aroma wafted beneath her nose, and she hastily set the tumbler on her end table. "Harold, are you mad?" she asked, appalled.

Harold's grin faded. "Now, why would you say a thing like that?"

"In case you've forgotten, alcohol is illegal in the United States," she said severely. "I can't believe you actually took the risk of smuggling this across the borders – we could have been arrested!"

He rolled his eyes. "We wouldn't have been arrested. Fined perhaps, and the wine confiscated, but arrested? Not if I had anything to say about it."

"You think your silver tongue can talk you out of anything, don't you?" Marian replied, shaking her head in disbelief. "How could you put us in danger like that?"

"Well, excuse me for wanting to take a little romance of Paris home with us," Harold said, sounding sore.

Her eyes widened. "Romance? Your actions put you on par with any lowlife bootleg smuggler! What a thing to do, bringing illegal liquor into this country – into our home. Suppose the girls were to find it? I want you to dispose of that wine, immediately."

"This wine was expensive!" he protested.

"I don't care," Marian said dismissively. "Get rid of it!"

Harold gazed at her with a mutinous expression, and his grip tightened protectively around the bottle. "No, I won't. And I won't be ordered around – you're my wife, not my mother."

"Harold," she said in a measured voice, "if you don't dispose of that wine, then I will."

An extremely tense silence descended upon the bedroom as husband and wife glared at each other. Then –

"Fine!" Harold exclaimed. "If that's the way you'll have it, I'm leaving – and I'm taking my wine with me."

"Fine!" Marian echoed, her voice just as heated, and turned away from her husband.

She sat in cold silence as Harold stormed around their bedroom, hastily throwing on a suit and muttering dark oaths under his breath. But when Marian heard him say something about wives being more trouble than they were worth, she could no longer contain her fury; the words that had been lurking on the tip of her tongue for some time now, waiting for a moment like this, finally burst out of her.

"Oh, I wish we'd never gone to Paris!"

Harold, who was in the midst of putting on his suit-coat, froze. He turned to face her, the hurt evident in his eyes.

Realizing she had gone too far, Marian sheepishly tried to make amends. "Harold, I – "

But her husband had already turned away. "Don't even bother," he said, his voice soft and sad as he exited the room.

Had Marian been dressed, she would have rushed right after him. She even leapt out of bed, with the thought of making herself presentable as quickly as possible. But before she could so much as grab her girdle from the nearby chair, she heard the front door slam shut.

Sighing, Marian reached for her nightgown instead; Penny and Elly would be home soon, and someone had to be there to greet them. Not to mention she had to dispose of the wine-filled tumblers Harold had left behind! As soon as she had dressed in her nightclothes and straightened up the bedroom, Marian took the glasses to the kitchen and poured their contents down the drain of the sink – wincing at the odor as she did so. For good measure, she turned on the faucet and let the hot water run for a few moments.

But even after all traces of the wine were gone, Marian's stomach still wouldn't settle. Consoling herself with a glass of warm milk, she settled on the parlor sofa with _Pride and Prejudice_ and waited for her daughters to come home.

XXX

At nine fifteen, the front door creaked open and two blonde-haired, hazel-eyed girls wearing identical blue gingham dresses slipped into the house. After casting a furtive look around, the children quietly made their way toward the stairs.

"Penelope Anne. Elinor Jane," Marian said sternly. "Come into the parlor, please."

The girls immediately obeyed. As they approached, Elly stared at the rug with a sheepish expression, but Penny flashed Marian what she clearly thought was a winning smile. "Good evening, Mother," she said blithely, as if nothing was amiss.

"Indeed," she said, raising an eyebrow at her daughter. "You are aware it's fifteen minutes past your bedtime? The movie must have ended over a half hour ago – what took you so long in coming home?"

Elly's head popped up. "Oh, we weren't at the movies," she replied. Penny elbowed her, but Elly continued, "The cartoon was great fun, but the movie got boring, so we left. We spent the evening at Grandma's instead." When Penny glared at her, Elly hissed, "Well, she would have found out soon enough, anyhow!"

"You weren't supposed to tell her _this_ soon," Penny scolded.

Marian hid her amusement. "Why not, Penny?"

"We meant it as a surprise," Penny said ruefully. "Grandma let us help her cook the Irish stew, and we wanted to bring some home for you. That's why we were late."

She looked so endearingly sincere that Marian would have softened, but for one undeniable incongruity. "If that's true, then where's the stew?"

"Oh, we left it out in the hall, just in case you were still up," Elly said cheerfully. "I'll go get it now!"

She retrieved the container of stew and would have opened it, but Marian put her hand over her daughter's. "That's very sweet of you, darling, but it's awfully late. Why don't you put the stew in the icebox, and then you and your sister can get ready for bed."

Penny's eyes brightened. "You're not going to punish us, then?" she asked, relieved.

This time, it was Elly who elbowed her sister, but Marian smiled. "No, darling. But the next time you two decide to change your plans like that, make sure you call home to let me know."

"Oh, we tried to," Penny assured her.

Marian froze, and her smile faded. "You did?"

"Grandma made us do that as soon as we got in the house," Elly said with a shrug. "But no one picked up."

Marian repressed a groan – the _one_ time she had chosen to ignore the phone! When her cheeks crimsoned, the girls looked curiously at her, and then each other. Thinking it best to put an end to this precarious conversation, Marian cleared her throat. "Well, off to bed then," she said in a gentle but no-nonsense tone. "I'll be up to tuck you in shortly."

"Yes, Mother," the girls chorused.

When they reached the stairs, Penny turned back. "Will Dad say goodnight to us, too?"

Having prepared for this inquiry, Marian smoothly replied, "Your father was called away on emporium business. He'll be home later."

Satisfied with this explanation, Penny nodded and skittered up the stairs. Elly followed her sister – though she walked a bit more slowly, and her expression was vaguely worried.

Marian sighed. She was not surprised by her youngest daughter's reaction; a few weeks ago, Elly had witnessed one of her and Harold's spats. Since then, the girl had taken to gazing thoughtfully at her parents at times, as if she was puzzling out what this new development could possibly mean. It was rare that Marian and Harold fought – and they made it a point never to argue in the presence of their children – but on that particular occasion, they hadn't realized Elly was still in the parlor. As soon as they became aware of their daughter gazing at them with a startled expression, they had subsided. Harold carefully explained that parents didn't always see eye to eye on certain subjects – just as she and Penny sometimes disagreed, so did they. This seemed to soothe Elly somewhat, but Marian knew a piece of her daughter's childhood had vanished forever; she remembered how crushed she had been when she first overheard her parents fighting.

But as much as it pained her to admit, the girls' childish illusions would have to eventually fade as they matured into young women. And this inevitable eventuality would probably happen a lot sooner than Marian would have liked; possessing their mother's intelligence and father's keen sense of observation, the girls had always been uncommonly perceptive. Though this wasn't the first time Harold had stormed out of the house after a fight, it had been several years since such an occurrence. In those days, the girls were still too young to realize what was going on and, in any case, she and Harold had always patched things up quickly. But Penny and Elly were older now, so it would be a lot harder to conceal the truth of such situations from them. Hoping that her husband would soon return home in a more amenable frame of mind so they could discuss things and present their daughters with a happily united front tomorrow morning, Marian went to bid Penny and Elly good night.


	3. Le Voyage De Noces

The first time Marian had ever tasted wine (indeed, the first time she had ever tasted liquor of any kind) was during her stay in Paris. It was a beautiful evening near the end of May, and Harold had suggested taking a stroll. After wandering the streets along the banks of the Seine for a little while, they had ended up at a table for two in a cozy little café. While Marian indulged in a hot chocolate, Harold nonchalantly ordered a glass of Merlot.

At first, Marian pretended not to notice – they were in France, after all – but when he took a long draught of the wine and let out a contented sigh, she raised an eyebrow at him.

In return, Harold winked at her. "Would you like to try some, my dear? It's awfully good."

Knowing he expected her to decline, Marian promptly replied, "I'd love to try some!"

Harold was only startled for a moment. His eyes lighting up with delight, he handed her the glass.

Regretting her boldness, Marian paused and tentatively eyed the dark-red liquid. But when her husband's amused grin turned into a teasing smirk, she brought the glass to her lips and tilted her head back. Steeling her resolve, Marian parted her lips and let the wine enter her mouth – she would _not_ let primness get the better of her. Not in Paris.

"How is it, darling?" Harold asked after she had set the glass down on the table.

Marian gave him a genuine smile. "That was good, actually," she confessed. "I thought it would taste terrible."

"Have another sip," he magnanimously offered.

So the librarian did. "Yes, that was _very_ good," she said happily, reveling in the warm, tingling sensation that was currently spreading throughout her body. For the first time in her life, Marian understood alcohol's appeal. She would have taken a third sip, but she didn't want to drink all of her husband's wine. With a wistful sigh, she began to hand Harold's glass back to him.

He chuckled and motioned for her to keep it. "I'll order another one for myself," he assured her.

But Harold must have garbled his French again – instead of a single glass of wine, the waiter brought an entire bottle of Merlot to their table. Not that Marian minded this mistake; when Harold refilled her empty glass, she gladly raised it to her lips.

However, Marian drank her second glass a bit more slowly – it wouldn't do to get too carried away. The librarian sensed the wine had already affected her; all of a sudden, she felt lightheaded and was prone to giggling for no particular reason.

But it was a wonderful feeling. Harold seemed to be experiencing the same sense of giddy enjoyment; each time he refilled his glass, his eyes and smile grew a little brighter, and the blush in his cheeks deepened.

At first, Marian and Harold engaged in pleasant, languid conversation. But by the time the bottle of Merlot sat empty on the table, they had fallen silent and were simply gazing at each other with longing smiles. Harold looked so devilishly handsome and charming in his snap-brim fedora and double-breasted suit that Marian wasn't sure she could resist him for much longer. When he turned to the waiter and asked, in nearly perfect French, for their bill, she was too enchanted to contain her ardor.

"Darling," she said dreamily, leaning in and planting a gentle kiss on his lips. Marian started to move away, but Harold wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to him. In her addled state, Marian didn't protest. They were in the dim corner of a Parisian café, and they were surrounded by other dreamy-eyed couples. Who would notice or care if she and her husband surreptitiously stole a few kisses?

But all too soon, Marian and Harold were interrupted by a polite, tentative _ahem!_

Breaking apart, they saw their waiter standing a few feet away from their table. With a small smirk on his face, the man presented them with their bill.

Harold sheepishly gestured to himself and his wife. "Nous sommes en voyage de noces," he explained in his halting French. Marian giggled – this wasn't the first time during their stay in Paris that Harold had used the "we're on our honeymoon" alibi to justify their behavior.

The waiter's smile broadened. "C'est également le Merlot – peut-être?" he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

"Peut-être, Monsieur," Harold concurred with a grin.

As her husband took some francs out of his pocket in order to settle their bill, Marian pulled out her compact to assess her appearance. She couldn't help giggling yet again when she noted her rosy complexion and shining eyes – though she drank far less wine, she looked just as intoxicated as Harold!

When the librarian lowered her mirror, she saw her husband gazing fondly at her. "Shall we get going, my dear?"

Nodding, Marian allowed Harold to help her to her feet – she only wobbled slightly as she stood – and the two of them left the café. Marian thought he was going to bring her straight to their hotel, but they ended up on a bridge over the Seine.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, bewildered.

"There's nothing more romantic than standing with one's lover on a bridge over the Seine – or so I've heard," Harold replied with a grin as he took her in his arms.

Marian smiled as she settled into his embrace. "Well, it's not the footbridge, but I suppose it will do."

"Now, darling," Harold admonished, waggling a finger at her, "we're in France now. Therefore, you're only allowed to speak French during our clandestine rendezvous."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And what about you – _mon __chéri_?"

He gave her a smoldering look. "If I could speak French as well as I can read it, _ma __chérie_, I'd be whispering love poetry in your ear right now."

"You mean like this?" Leaning closer to her husband until her lips were brushing against his ear, Marian softly began to recite De Parny's _Le Baiser_:

_Ah, Harold! what have you done?  
All this ecstasy of bliss,  
All this throbbing passion won  
From one single kiss!  
Lingering kisses never cloy  
On the loving lips we press,  
But, perhaps, the foretaste e'en of joy  
Is love's greatest happiness;  
And e'en the remembrance, Sweet,  
Of this first kiss, always will  
Make my bosom flush and beat,  
Till my heart be cold and still.  
Now your lover scarce believes  
That 'tis her love inspires you:  
Better to give than to receive,  
So she joys in the love that fires you._

As soon as she had finished, Harold pulled away a little and sought her eyes with his. "Wasn't that the first poem you ever sent me?" he asked, awed.

Marian gasped. "I can't believe you remembered!"

He grinned. "How could I forget such a lovely confession? I always knew you were a passionate woman, but that was the first time during our courtship you allowed me an unfettered glimpse into the true depths of your ardor."

Normally, his words would have caused Marian's cheeks to crimson. But instead, she gave her husband a playful smile and tightened her arms around him. "I _was_ rather forward, wasn't I?"

Harold looked at her with that delicious expression of dazed amazement. "Terribly brazen," he agreed, and met her mouth with his.

When a trio of giggling young women on an evening stroll interrupted their embrace, Marian still didn't blush. Instead, she simply smiled as her husband turned to the ladies and explained, this time with a touch of pride, "Nous sommes en voyage de noces."

The women's giggles increased in intensity. "Félicitations pour votre mariage, Monsieur-Dame!" one of the young ladies said kindly.

"Merci, Mademoiselle," Harold replied, beaming at her. Taking Marian by the hand, he motioned for her to exit the bridge with him and pulled her quickly through the streets. She laughed breathlessly as she teetered along behind him in her higher-than-usual heels, praying she wouldn't twist an ankle during their mad dash.

Fortunately, they reached the rue des Beaux-Arts without incident. As they approached the entrance to L'Hotel, Harold slowed to a more appropriate pace, and they went through the doors and ascended the spiral staircase in a stately, dignified manner. It wasn't until Marian was standing outside the door to their room, rooting around in her purse for their key, when Harold dropped all pretense of formality and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Caught by surprise, Marian laughed and clutched her purse before it slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. "Harold – we'll never get into our room, at this rate!"

But Harold didn't seem to care. "Oh, Madam Librarian," he sighed, nestling closer to her and nibbling at her neck, "I'm going to make such love to you… "

Trying as best she could to concentrate on the task at hand while Harold insistently ran his hands over her curves, Marian finally managed to locate their key. Once they had staggered into the room and shut the door behind them, she grabbed him by the lapels of his suit-coat and pulled him to her for a searing kiss. Though Harold had taken the lead outside in the hall, it was now Marian who set the pace – before he could so much as slide one of the straps of her evening gown down her shoulder, she had removed his suit-coat, tie and dress shirt.

Marian thought that after fifteen days in Paris, Harold would be used to her boldness. But as she began to undo his belt buckle, he gazed at her with the same sense of wonder and awe as he had when they were on the train to New York City. As Marian unabashedly continued to remove the rest of his clothing, he recovered his presence of mind and commenced undressing her just as hastily. Sighing, she let her arms fall to her sides and simply enjoyed her husband's heated caresses, reveling in the warmth of his hands and mouth against her bare flesh.

But Marian didn't remain idle for long. Pulling Harold into her arms, she looked him in the eyes and said in a low voice, "Make love to me."

At that, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to their bed. But as Harold lay Marian on top of the covers, her stomach began to churn unpleasantly. At first, she tried to ignore it, but when pain entered her gasps, Harold immediately ended their embrace. "Darling, what's the matter?"

"I feel queasy," she said wonderingly.

He regarded her with concerned eyes. "Is it the wine?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "It feels more like… " Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth.

Harold immediately pulled Marian to her feet and started ushering her to the washroom, but she tugged at him until he halted.

"Wait – things didn't happen this way," Marian said, anxiously trying to quell her rising nausea.

"What do you mean?" Harold asked, perplexed.

"I never felt queasy," she replied with absolute certainty. "We spent this entire night making love!"

He gave her a rueful smile. "That would have been nice, but I don't think it's the wisest of ideas. Not if you aren't feeling well."

"This isn't the way things are supposed to be!" Marian insisted, close to tears now.

"Oh, darling," Harold said sympathetically. Retrieving her robe from a nearby chair, he draped it over her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "There's always tomorrow… "

"But I'm not sick," she whispered. As if to purposely contradict her, her stomach gave another disquieting lurch, and Marian knew she was about to lose the battle she'd been fighting with her body. Abruptly, she pulled away from Harold and fled to the washroom before it was too late –

XXX

Marian's eyes flew open and she sat up in bed. The dream had ended, but the nausea remained; she clutched her churning stomach and commanded it to settle. Through sheer force of will, Marian managed to stifle her queasiness.

But she couldn't enjoy her triumph for long; as Marian recalled her behavior in Paris, her cheeks crimsoned. It was appalling, the way she and Harold had carried on in public! How could she have found such conduct amusing? She should never have tried the Merlot; that much was certain. And if she had fully considered the consequences of her brazen actions in the train compartment –

_You still would have gone ahead and done it, anyway_, a voice said shrewdly. _It was wonderful to stop being the dull and dutiful wife and mother and simply enjoy life for once, wasn't it_?

Marian immediately pushed such thoughts from her mind. It was time for her to get up; there were chores to do, breakfast to cook, two girls to get ready for school, and then she had a full day at the library. Marian would have loved to stay home – she had been feeling awfully tired lately, and could have used the extra rest – but her assistant, Miss Peabody, had gone to Marshalltown to care for her sick aunt, and she wouldn't be back for at least another week.

As Marian industriously made the bed – ruefully noting from the smoothness of the covers on Harold's side that he hadn't returned home last night – her gaze fell upon the clock on her end table. Inexplicably, the hour and minute hand indicated it was almost ten thirty. Looking at the clock on the wall, Marian was startled to see that the time on her alarm was indeed correct.

Her eyes widening, Marian frantically dashed to Penny and Elly's bedroom to wake them up – due to her indolence, the girls had missed practically a whole morning of school! But when she opened their door, she saw neatly made beds and felt the stillness of the normally buzzing atmosphere; the girls had gotten up long ago. Bemused, Marian returned to her room. Why hadn't she awakened at her usual time? More importantly, why hadn't her alarm – which she used as a precautionary measure to prevent such lapses – alerted her that she had overslept?

A quick examination of the clock on her bedside table revealed that someone had switched the alarm off. Marian scowled; how dare Harold interfere with her morning routine like that! Fuming, she dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. If she hurried, she might be able to complete at least some of her chores before she had to open the library at eleven –

Marian's thoughts scattered when she saw the note on the counter:

_Marian –_

_I've taken the liberty of getting Penny and Elly ready for school. They'll be eating lunch at the emporium with me, and then returning there after school, since you'll be at the library this afternoon. I'll send the girls home this evening for dinner._

– _H._

Marian trembled as she reread the note; clearly, she had underestimated the depths of her husband's anger. It was bad enough he wasn't coming home for lunch, and now he was planning to miss dinner as well? Not for the first time since Harold had stormed out of the house, Marian felt the overwhelming urge to weep. Suppressing her tears, she crumpled the note and tossed it in the nearby wastebasket. She didn't have time for this foolishness –

_You never have time_, said that irritating voice. _Wasn't that Harold's point_?

Marian had to concede the truth of this, but she wasn't about to pamper her husband's ego by running to the emporium and pleading for him to come home. Especially as he was the one who had stormed out in the first place!

_But what are you going to tell the girls_?

"Mind your own business," Marian said firmly, and turned her attention to her usual morning routine.


	4. Mother Knows Best

For once, Marian wished she hadn't done the sensible thing. If she hadn't been so insistent on completing her usual morning chores, she would never have cleaned out the icebox. If she had avoided doing such, she would never have opened the container of Irish stew Penny and Elly had brought home the night before. And she would never have gotten sick to her stomach.

When the familiar, pungent aroma of mutton assailed her senses, Marian could no longer repress the queasiness she had been fighting so hard to deny for the past few days. Without even pausing to place the cover back on the container, she hurriedly retreated to the washroom, her hand clamped over her mouth in a desperate attempt to delay the natural inclinations of her body for just a few moments longer.

Even after the churning of her stomach was relieved, Marian felt too weak and out of sorts to do anything but crawl back into bed. But she couldn't just close the library without explanation. Letting out a sigh that quickly turned into an agonized groan as another pang of queasiness unsettled her stomach, she shambled into the parlor and placed a call to Zaneeta. Unfortunately, no one picked up the phone at the Djilas residence. So Marian placed a call to Ethel. But the phone at the Washburns' house also rang without cease. Even in her malaise, Marian couldn't help but let out a bleak, despondent laugh at this turn of events – truly, Providence had a wicked sense of humor! With a sigh, she tried her brother next.

Amaryllis answered the phone. Marian was so grateful to have finally reached someone that she greeted her sister-in-law with genuine relief, even though she knew precisely what sending Amaryllis to post a note on the library meant: By nightfall, every River City-zien would be buzzing with concern and speculation over the librarian's sudden, mysterious illness.

But Marian couldn't worry about that at present. Since she hadn't covered the Irish stew, she could smell the aroma of mutton wafting into the parlor from the kitchen. Her nausea threatening to overwhelm her again, Marian hastily ended her conversation with Amaryllis and fled back to the washroom.

XXX

Once Marian managed to dispose of the Irish stew, she made herself a cup of tea and went upstairs to bed. A nap would restore her energy, which was vital if she was to visit Dr. Pyne this afternoon. Marian refused to consider requesting a house call – such a course of action would only further inflame the town's gossips. And besides, it wasn't urgent that she see Dr. Pyne today – his diagnosis would be a mere formality, confirming what she had suspected for quite some time now.

But Marian couldn't sleep. All she could do was nervously ponder what the future would bring. As her stomach finally began to settle, the pangs of nausea were replaced by quivers of excitement. She and Harold were going to have another child! (_Or children_, she thought wryly.) For the first time in several months, Marian allowed herself to indulge in lovely daydreams. The earliest years of her marriage were some of the happiest times of her life; as she and Harold adjusted to their new roles as parents, Marian had fallen in love with him all over again. Becoming a father had brought out even more of Harold's tender side – no man could have been more devoted to the care and well being of his daughters. When it came to Penny and Elly, there wasn't anything he wouldn't have done to ensure their happiness and comfort. And Harold's already-strong feelings for his wife had deepened even further; before, he had loved Marian as a woman and a dear friend, now, he also revered her as the mother of his children.

As Marian gazed wistfully at Harold's side of the bed, her sense of glee disappeared. Given the terseness of his early-morning note, it wasn't likely her husband would be coming home tonight – and perhaps he wouldn't return tomorrow, either. At this thought, Marian felt white-hot anger coursing through her veins once more. Her first pregnancy occurred during the early days of their marriage, when Harold still watched her with the enthralled fascination of a newly besotted man. Suspecting her condition long before she did, he had treated her with the utmost care and devotion. He would never have stormed out of the house over something as foolish as wine.

_And you would never have scolded him so harshly over such lapses, either_, said that nagging voice.

Once again, Marian pushed these disquieting thoughts from her mind. The fact remained that even if they hadn't fought, Harold was utterly unaware of this new development – and had always been. With a mixture of sadness and resentment, Marian reflected that this was what happened after so many years of marriage; husbands no longer cared to observe the precious, minute details about the women they claimed to love.

Yet the voice wouldn't quit. _Come now, Marian, do you really expect a man in his mid-fifties – a man who's been married for over a decade – to be on the sharp lookout for such possibilities? And even if Harold did suspect your condition, do you think he would be overjoyed by it? When this child turns ten, he'll be in his sixties! Perhaps you should have been more careful in Paris…_

Suddenly, Marian felt the terrible urge to weep again. But this was one inclination she could still successfully suppress, which she immediately did. There was no use lying in bed all day and crying; now that she had recovered from her nausea, it was time for her to rise and embark on the next course of action. First, she would visit Dr. Pyne. Then, as she considered how best to reveal the news to Harold, Marian would drop by her mother's house.

XXX

When Mrs. Paroo opened the door and saw Marian standing on the front porch, her face brightened. "Well, darling, this is an unexpected surprise!" she said warmly. "Come in – I was just about to take the jelly off the stove."

As Marian followed her mother into the kitchen, she observed her surroundings with a fond smile. Even after so many years, her mother remained stubbornly Victorian in her decorating sensibilities – it had been over a decade since Marian left her girlhood home, but Mrs. Paroo hadn't changed so much as a knickknack. Normally, Marian would have laughed and perhaps rolled her eyes – even she had outgrown such old-fashioned modes of décor – but today, the librarian found the familiarity of her mother's house comforting. As she took up her normal spot at the counter, Marian wistfully recalled the long afternoons she had spent helping her mother in the kitchen.

Yet even when she was in the throes of nostalgia, Marian's sense of duty remained strong as ever. Instead of indulging in idle ruminations of the past, the first words out of her mouth were, "Thank you for watching the girls last night, Mama."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Mrs. Paroo assured her as she picked up a pair of potholders and went over to the pan of jelly.

"I'm sorry I missed their call," Marian said ruefully. "I hope you weren't too worried."

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Paroo replied. After placing the jelly on the counter, she turned and regarded her daughter with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "Besides, I had an idea you might not pick up the phone. So I thought it best to keep the girls here for a little while longer than I normally would have."

Marian's cheeks crimsoned, and she averted her eyes from her mother's keen expression. "It was awfully neglectful of me," she apologized.

Mrs. Paroo chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, don't be silly, darling! There's nothing to be ashamed of – every husband and wife is entitled to a little uninterrupted time together."

"Well, letting the phone go unanswered when my daughters aren't safely at home is not a habit I intend to adopt," Marian said stiffly.

Her mother sighed. "You know, I think things were a lot better before there were phones," she opined. "I can't tell you how many times a soufflé has fallen or a cake has burnt because I was interrupted by a phone call. And nothing anyone ever had to tell me over the phone couldn't have waited until I met them in person!"

Before Marian could ask if she included in the category of news that could wait the phone call from Winthrop informing her Amaryllis had given her a granddaughter, Mrs. Paroo swiftly changed the subject. "How did you like the stew I sent the girls home with?"

Caught by surprise at this abrupt topic shift, Marian was too startled to lie. "I couldn't eat it," she admitted.

"Why not?" Mrs. Paroo asked, alarmed.

"It made me sick to my stomach," Marian said, feeling herself well up with tears. This time, she could not repress them; they streamed down her cheeks, even when she pulled out her handkerchief and attempted to contain them.

Mrs. Paroo gaped at her daughter with shining eyes. "Oh, darling," she said gently, and enfolded Marian in a warm hug. "You know, I had always hoped for more grandchildren. But I thought perhaps after the twins, you lost your nerve!"

Marian couldn't help laughing a little through her tears. "Of course not, Mama. But we did have our reasons for having only two children."

"Mmm," Mrs. Paroo said wistfully. Her expression turned shrewd. "And what did Harold have to say about your news?"

"I haven't told him yet," Marian confessed. "I wanted to wait until Dr. Pyne confirmed my condition, and that didn't happen until this afternoon."

"Marian!" Mrs. Paroo admonished. "You don't mean to tell me that you have another foolish, romantic plan in mind? How long are you going to wait to tell your husband, this time?"

Marian could no longer hold back her emotions; at her mother's words, she began to sob in earnest. "Oh, Mama," she said brokenly, "the real reason I haven't told Harold is because we've been fighting. He left the house last night, and I haven't seen him since!"

Mrs. Paroo hugged her daughter again. "Well, what are you fighting about?" she asked with the blunt but tender inquisitiveness of a concerned mother.

"Paris," Marian said sadly.

Mrs. Paroo looked flabbergasted. "But I thought you two had a wonderful time!"

"A little too wonderful, perhaps," the librarian replied as her tears began to ebb. "For the first time ever, we were in a place where no one knew who we were, where no one would be harmed by our actions if we didn't set the proper example. It was all too easy to get carried away, knowing no one was watching."

With her uncanny shrewdness, Mrs. Paroo quickly deciphered what Marian had left unsaid. Raising an eyebrow at her daughter, she spoke, "You always did let River City's gossips bother you more than they should. And as for the girls, you can't protect them from everything, darling. They have to learn the facts of life at some point!"

"Mama!" Marian exclaimed, the crimson in her cheeks deepening. "Surely you don't expect me and Harold to completely abandon propriety – "

"Marian," Mrs. Paroo said with a look of tender exasperation, "I only meant that you should ease up on this high-and-mighty 'setting the proper example.' Is it really so terrible if every now and then the girls see a little hint of how much their mother and father love each other? It might even do them some good – especially as they're seeing you two fight!" Marian squirmed unpleasantly at this, but her mother continued, "Did it 'harm' you to see me and your father kiss occasionally?"

Marian couldn't help smiling. "I actually found it quite touching," she admitted.

"Well, there you go!" Mrs. Paroo said triumphantly. "So make a little room for romance in your life again."

The librarian let out a resigned sigh as she wiped the last of her tears from her cheeks. "I'm afraid the time for foolish, romantic plans is long past."

Mrs. Paroo gazed thoughtfully at her daughter. "You know, darling, it's odd how similar our situations turned out. We both married men who were several years older than us – men who tried not to fall in love, but did anyway. And now you're about to have a child later in life."

Marian met her mother's gaze with a level expression. "What are you saying, Mama?"

Her mother's eyes grew sad. "I only had your father for eight more years after Winthrop was born. Who knows how long you'll have Harold?"

At that, Marian burst into tears again.

Mrs. Paroo wrapped her daughter in yet another hug. "Darling, I'm not saying these things to be cruel," she averred, her voice heavy with emotion. "All I'm saying is that you've got to cherish your husband for as long as you have him. Stop worrying so much about picking up the phone – or 'setting the proper example'!"

"I know," Marian acknowledged, sniffling. "I've been awful to Harold since we returned from Paris – but I don't know what to do to fix things."

"I'll tell you," Mrs. Paroo said firmly. "You're going to go home, change into a nice dress, and then pay a visit to the music emporium."

Marian gave her mother a wan smile. "And then what?"

Mrs. Paroo planted a motherly kiss on her daughter's forehead, and ended their embrace. "Oh, I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said sagely.

XXX

_A/N – Well, I finally managed to complete this chapter! And now that things are starting to quiet down at work, updates to this fic should come a lot more quickly._


	5. Delay

The first thing Marian did when she arrived home was open the cedar chest holding her best linens and the clothing she no longer wore but wished to preserve for sentimental reasons. Among the most treasured garments in this chest were her wedding gown and the pink dress she had donned the night she first met Harold on the footbridge. But Marian didn't linger over her memories for long; removing her Paris ensembles, she laid them on the bed.

After careful consideration, Marian decided on the Chanel suit of gray-blue tweed, which had been one of Harold's favorites. But it was a sleeker, plainer silhouette than she was used to, so she paired the dress with a cloche hat swathed in a light blue scarf pinned in place by a pearl brooch, which gave her ensemble a touch of old-fashioned femininity. To finish, she added a strand of pearls with a cameo – a family heirloom Mrs. Paroo had passed down when the librarian reached her twenty-first birthday. Pausing to regard her reflection in the front hall's full-length mirror, Marian nodded in approbation – she looked stylish, but not too chic for River City.

But Marian didn't even make it to the sidewalk of East Pine before the first obstacle to her plans presented itself. After closing the door behind her, she turned and beheld Mrs. Shinn and the ladies of the Events Committee strolling through the front gate. The moment they caught sight of the librarian, they hastened onto the porch and arranged themselves in a semicircle around her, clucking and cooing like concerned mother hens.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Marian said politely, dazed by this unexpected outpouring. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We heard from Amaryllis that you were ill and had closed the library," Mrs. Dunlop said kindly. "So we came over to see how you were doing."

"I brought you some of my chicken soup," Ethel added. "I always keep some on hand, for emergencies."

Marian smiled. During her first pregnancy, Ethel Washburn's chicken soup had been a godsend; often, it was the only thing the librarian could stomach on her more difficult days. "Well, that's very kind of you," she said gratefully, reaching out for the pot. "I'll put it in the icebox immediately."

"No, we'll handle that," Mrs. Shinn admonished. "You should be resting!" She turned to Ethel and said in her imperious voice, "Why don't you go put that in the icebox for Mrs. Hill?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Shinn, but that isn't necessary," Marian assured her. "I was ill this morning, but I'm feeling much better now. It was nothing more than a female complaint."

The librarian was no better at lying than she was when Harold first came to River City, but over the years she had learned to tell the truth in a manner that did not invite scrutiny or additional questions. Indeed, Marian was gratified to see the ladies nod sympathetically and drop the subject. Now all that remained was to figure out how she could send them on their way as soon as possible, without causing hurt feelings.

But before Marian could say anything further, Alma Hix, who had been gazing at her with narrowed eyes since their arrival, spoke up. "Where did you get that dress, Mrs. Hill? I've never seen anything like it in any of River City's shops!"

In all the fuss, Marian had forgotten about her ensemble; she was too caught off guard to do anything but state the unvarnished truth, "Oh – I got it in Paris."

Mrs. Hix looked chagrined, but the other ladies beamed at Marian. "Is that a genuine Chanel?" Mrs. Dunlop asked, gazing at the dress with fascinated eyes. "It's gorgeous!"

A slight blush colored Marian's cheeks. "Thank you, Mrs. Dunlop."

Mrs. Grubb let out a giggle. "Do you have any more new dresses?"

"Yes, do you?" Mrs. Squires asked eagerly. "I'd love to see the latest fashions from Paris. Wouldn't you, ladies?"

"Oh, yes!" everyone but Mrs. Hix chorused, and began chattering enthusiastically amongst themselves.

Marian sighed – she'd never get to the emporium, at this rate! She was already going to have to invite the ladies in for tea – which promised to set her back at least an hour – but if she was compelled to model her Paris ensembles for them, she'd be occupied well into the evening. But what could she tell them?

Suddenly, as though Harold had been whispering into her ear, Marian whipped up the perfect alibi. When the women finally quieted and looked at her with expectant eyes, she said regretfully, "I would love nothing better than to show you my Paris gowns. Unfortunately, I can't do that – it would spoil the surprise."

The ladies, whose avid expressions had begun to fade into disappointment as she spoke, grew intrigued. "What surprise?" Mrs. Shinn asked curiously.

Marian gave her an enigmatic smile. "I'm saving them for the fashion show."

Mrs. Shinn eyes widened, and she looked vaguely scandalized. "Fashion show?"

"Yes," Marian replied confidently, as if she had been planning this for months. She gestured in a grand manner, as she had seen her husband do so many times when he was presenting to a crowd. "All the latest fashions fresh from Paris, right here in River City! I thought it would be a wonderful fundraiser for the Events Committee. I will be elaborating on my proposal at our next Events Committee meeting, of course."

There was a tense silence as Mrs. Shinn considered the idea. Though she felt awkward and terribly vulnerable, Marian checked the impulse to say anything further, lest she oversell herself. Gazing at the mayor's wife with a relaxed, pleasant smile, she simply bided her time.

Indeed, Marian's patience was soon rewarded. "I think it's a marvelous notion!" Mrs. Shinn pronounced. "And since all the members of the Events Committee are present, why don't we discuss your proposal right now? After all, tempus fugit!"

Marian's smile froze briefly – she should have known she wouldn't be able to get off that easily – but she graciously replied, "Certainly – why don't you all come into the parlor and sit for awhile."

At that, the ladies began twittering excitedly again, and they happily followed Marian into the house.

Once the librarian had gotten everyone settled, she went into the kitchen to see what she could rustle up for refreshments. As she filled a teakettle with water and placed it on the stove, her sharp ears – ever alert to ensuring her daughters weren't getting into mischief when they were nearby – pricked up when one of the ladies spoke her name.

Marian paused in her actions, wondering if someone was calling her. But the voice wasn't loud enough for that, and she didn't hear them repeat her name. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she tiptoed over to the kitchen door and eased it open a crack so she could peek into the parlor. Marian felt silly skulking about like this in her own home, but she couldn't help herself. Especially not when she heard what the ladies were discussing:

"It's true – my son saw Professor Hill entering the music emporium around eight-thirty," Mrs. Squires was telling the others. "And when he passed by a few hours later, the light in his office was still on!"

Marian sighed. Only Mrs. Squires would have the temerity to gossip about a woman while she was comfortably ensconced in that woman's parlor. When Mrs. Grubb let out one of her infernal giggles, Marian had to restrain the impulse to march in the living room and throttle her.

"Do you mean to tell me that River City's 'first citizens' are actually having a marital spat?" Mrs. Hix said with a gasp, sardonically echoing Mayor Shinn's soubriquet for Harold and Marian. At first, Marian wondered at the bitterness in the woman's voice, but then she remembered that of late, Mrs. Hix and her husband were going through a rough patch.

"If it is true they're fighting, I do hope they patch things up soon," Ethel said wistfully.

"Why – so we can watch them fawn all over each other in public?" Mrs. Hix snapped. "If an argument is what it takes to get them to behave properly, then I'm all for it happening more often!"

Marian's eyes widened at this. She knew she ought to be offended – even from a woman like Mrs. Hix, this was a rather strong sentiment of loathing – but instead, she found herself feeling only pity. Apparently, Mrs. Hix's marital difficulties had left her with quite a bit of rancor in her soul, if she bore that much ill will toward a happily married couple.

The other ladies were astounded as well, to the point where they could no longer take pleasure in such juicy gossip about the librarian and the music professor's affairs. Mrs. Grubb even went so far as to cease in her constant giggling, and joined the others in goggling at Mrs. Hix.

Marian's spirits were further bolstered when she saw Ethel's eyes narrow. "Mrs. Hill loves her husband, as a woman should," she said coolly. "And her behavior in public has never been anything but appropriate."

For the briefest of moments, Mrs. Hix's expression was one of hurt and dismay, but then her eyes narrowed as well. "Do you think hairpins scattered all over the parlor are appropriate?"

Marian repressed a groan – would she never live down that foolish hairpin fiasco? After her and Harold's discussion that snowy January night, it had never happened again and, in any case, her hair was bobbed now. But that's the way things were in River City; no one ever forgot your transgressions, not even after you died. _Uncle Maddy could certainly attest to that_, the librarian thought wryly.

Once again, Ethel rose to Marian's defense. "For heaven's sake, Alma, are you ever going to give that old tale a rest? The only thing the two of them have done in public since then is exchange looks and smiles. I think it's charming they're still madly in love, after all these years!"

"Oh Ethel, you think everything Mrs. Hill does is charming," Mrs. Hix said derisively. "As to your 'looks and smiles' – they look at each other the way no decent people ever should while in public, not even if they're married!"

"Mrs. Hill has been a good friend to me and Marcellus," Ethel replied staunchly. "And I've never known a kinder, more generous woman."

"She's been a good friend to all of us," Mrs. Dunlop added. "If it weren't for Mrs. Hill, we'd probably still have my cousin Priscilla interfering with the Events Committee whenever she came to town!"

Marian let out a small gasp at Mrs. Dunlop's public dismissal of Miss Harper. Even now, Maud Dunlop still retained her sense of clannishness; Marian had never heard her say a word against Miss Harper, except to drop occasional hints in hushed, conspiratorial tones as to her true feelings about her cousin.

Even Mrs. Hix seemed surprised at Mrs. Dunlop's unusual forthrightness. "Well," she said in a subdued voice, "all I meant is that the two of them could stand to demonstrate a little more decorum, and quit trying to slip away to the footbridge when they think no one's watching!"

Mrs. Squires, who had been curiously quiet during this exchange, spoke up. "Alma, a few years ago, I might have agreed with you."

The silence this statement caused was one of the most palpable hushes Marian had ever experienced in the presence of these ladies. As she nervously wondered whether or not she should move away from the door – the longer she lingered, the more likely it was they'd discover her eavesdropping – Mrs. Hix recovered her powers of speech.

"Eunice Squires, are you saying you _don't_ agree with what I'm saying?" she asked, sounding aghast. Marian was shocked as well – the two women usually saw eye to eye on most every subject.

"That's right," Mrs. Squires said matter-of-factly. "When Jacey came down with that awful Spanish flu, he was delirious toward the end. He thought he was twenty-two again, and we were still courting." Her voice softened. "Every time I entered the room, he asked me to go to the footbridge with him. Even when I told him no – and God knows it killed me to have to disappoint him – he still asked. He died asking me that." Mrs. Squires paused, and Marian saw rare, genuine emotion in her eyes. "The last time my husband had invited me to the footbridge was in 1902, the year before Eddie was born. If Professor Hill is still asking his wife to the footbridge, I don't grudge her for going."

Once again, the room lapsed into a deep, uncomfortable silence. Marian knew she ought to return to her hostess duties in the kitchen, but she couldn't bring herself to move – she was just as mesmerized by Mrs. Squires' words as any of the other ladies in the parlor. As Mrs. Squires sat there with a sphinx-like expression that belied her pain and sorrow, the other ladies' eyes began to glisten as they gazed sympathetically at their friend. Mrs. Hix looked abashedly pensive, as if she was reconsidering several of her long-held beliefs about the way the world ought to be, and Mrs. Grubb sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Marian felt herself growing emotional as well, especially when she recalled what her mother had said earlier. Harold had always enjoyed excellent health, but how many more years would she be able to enjoy a passionate relationship with the man she loved, before the infirmity of old age claimed him? Marian's tear-blurred gaze dropped to her stomach, which was just beginning to take on the telltale curve of her condition. How many years would it be before Harold left his child without a father?

But she couldn't ruminate on such subjects for too long; her thoughts scattered when Mrs. Shinn cleared her throat. "Where is Mrs. Hill?" she asked with the brisk air of a woman who wished to move past an awkward and unpleasant situation as quickly as possible. "She's taking an awfully long time with the tea!"

"I'll go see," Ethel immediately offered.

As Mrs. Washburn rose from her seat, Marian hastily wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and retreated to the stove. But when Ethel entered the kitchen, she could not pretend everything was well.

"Mrs. Hill?" Ethel called out gaily when she entered the kitchen. Her expression softened into concern when she saw the librarian's downcast face. "Marian, is everything all right?"

Marian smiled ruefully at her old friend. "Ethel, I don't wish to be rude, but I need to get to the music emporium right away."

"Of course you do," Ethel said understandingly, and turned to go back into the parlor. "I'll help you get rid of everyone."

XXX

With Ethel's help, Marian managed to send the ladies on their way within half an hour. Though the delay had initially irritated her, she reflected that in the end, it ultimately proved a powerful reminder of the importance of cherishing one's loved ones. Mrs. Squires' sad story kept running through the librarian's mind as she hastened to Professor Harold Hill's Music Emporium, firming her resolve to make amends with her husband. Hopefully, Harold would be receptive to her overtures. If he wasn't, Marian was quite prepared to swallow her pride and say whatever it took to get him to come home. When she reflected upon the proud stance she had taken earlier that morning, an amused smile flitted across her face and she placed a gentle hand on her stomach. Even if she hadn't been in a forgiving frame of mind, Marian knew she would have to humble herself at some point. With her unborn child to think of, she couldn't afford to be stubborn.

Yet as she always did when she felt nervous or uncertain, Marian found herself adopting a distant, frosty demeanor upon entering the emporium. Fortunately, Harold was too occupied to witness her lapse into haughtiness; he was still in the midst of overseeing an afternoon rehearsal of the boys' band. So Marian was able to catch herself and soften her features into a kinder expression as she slipped into a back corner of the main auditorium.

Even after rehearsal concluded and the boys scattered, Harold did not observe Marian's arrival – upon dismissing his students, the music professor promptly disappeared down the hallway that led to his office. Penny and Elly, who were also ensconced in an out-of-the-way corner of the auditorium, also failed to notice their mother – as evidenced by their reaction when Theodore "Teddy" Washburn, the eldest of Marcellus and Ethel's three sons, walked by and greeted Elly with a shy smile and a hesitant, "Good afternoon."

Penny immediately turned protective. "What do you think you're doing?"

Teddy scowled. "I was just saying hello – not that it's any of_ your_ business."

"I saw you staring at her all through rehearsal," Penny pressed on, undaunted. "Half the time you missed your notes because you were too busy making cow's eyes at_ my_ sister."

Aside from feeling a queer pang of distress at this stark reminder that her daughters were indeed growing up at a faster rate than she wished to acknowledge, Marian's first inclination was to interrupt – she had certainly not raised Penny to be so rude. But some instinct made her pause and wait to see how things played out.

Indeed, Teddy Washburn proved more than capable of standing up for himself. "What's the matter – are you jealous?" he retorted with a grin. "And anyhow, she was the one who was looking at me first."

At this, Elly flushed beet red and firmly riveted her gaze to the floor. Again, Marian felt another pang of sorrow – not only were boys noticing her daughters, her daughters were noticing them back. _Well, perhaps I'm being a bit hasty_, she thought with amused relief as she noted Penny's expression of genuine disgust at such an idea.

Indeed, Marian's eldest daughter – who didn't appear to notice her sister's reaction – let out a derisive laugh. "Hah – as if I would want some chubby, buck-toothed ten-year-old boy ogling me! And you're a big fat liar – Elly would never look twice at_ you_. So next time, you'd better keep your eyes where they belong," she said in a menacing voice. Her hands balled into fists.

Now things had definitely gone too far. Marian opened her mouth to intervene, but before she could say anything, Professor Hill's booming voice rang out from across the auditorium.

"Penelope Anne," he said sternly, "what have I told you about treating others with respect?"

In a flash, Penny unclenched her hands and refolded them in a ladylike manner. Head bowed, she turned toward her father and said in a demure voice, "I'm sorry, Dad. I was only defending Elly from being picked on. Last week, Teddy put a frog on her shoulder at recess, and I was just making sure he didn't try anything else."

"I did not!" Teddy protested. "That was my younger brother, Greg."

Her eyes blazing with fury, Penny whirled around to face him. "He only did it because you were too chicken to do it yourself! I heard you daring him – "

"Penny, that's enough," Harold interrupted in a firm voice. "Even if what you say is true, that's neither here nor there. You were the only one hurling insults today."

Penny's eyes widened in astonishment, as did Marian's. Normally, Harold was pretty quick to forgive his daughter's transgressions – especially when she apologized so beautifully.

"You and your sister are to go straight home and start on your homework," Harold continued. "I'm going to be drilling you thoroughly on your multiplication tables – Miss Meadows tells me you're both behind the rest of the class."

Elly's cheeks went from crimson to pale, and her head shot up. "But Dad, you said you were going to take us to the Candy Kitchen after rehearsal," she entreated. "And why do_ I_ have to be punished for Penny's bad behavior?"

Penny looked deeply offended. "Humph – that's the last time I defend_ you_," she muttered.

To Marian's surprise, Harold still didn't soften. "Penelope Anne and Elinor Jane, since you insist on arguing with me, you won't be seeing the inside of the Candy Kitchen for the next month."

Penny and Elly gasped – though Harold was not averse to disciplining them when necessary, he had always limited the duration of his punishments to a few days, or in rare cases, a week. They looked appealingly at their father, but his expression remained inexorable. Letting out sad sighs, the girls turned and walked out of the auditorium.

Teddy still lingered, his expression apologetic as he attempted to catch Elly's eye, but she steadfastly refused to look at him. Penny, of course, furtively stuck out her tongue as she passed by. However, the boy's gaze was still fixed on Elly's retreating form, and he didn't even notice. Once the girls had exited the building, Teddy's shoulders slumped and he also began to depart – until he was called back by Professor Hill.

"Teddy," Harold said in a much gentler voice, "a new shipment of trumpets arrived on the train just this afternoon. Would you mind helping me unpack and polish them before they go on display in the shop?"

Teddy's eyes brightened, and he perked right up. Normally, Professor Hill had strict rules about such things and didn't allow anyone but himself or Tommy Djilas to touch instruments they didn't own. So instead of being an unpleasant, arduous chore, any member of the boys' band would have considered it a special treat and an honor to be entrusted with this menial but important task.

Marian's eyes glimmered with amusement at this Tom Sawyer-esque method of Harold's. She remembered the first time she witnessed the members of the boys' band cheerfully toiling on her husband's behalf – he had used similar guile to establish the hallowed "annual tradition" of waxing the floors, buffing the seats and repainting the walls of the music emporium's main auditorium. Yet she had never reprimanded him for this shameless ploy to gain free labor at the boys' expense. Even though he still retained a vestige of the charlatan, Harold loved his boys, and they loved him in return.

As Teddy smiled up at his beloved music professor, Harold gave the boy a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Why don't you go see Tommy Djilas in the shop, and he'll set you up. I'll join you both as soon as I finish some paperwork in my office."

"Sure thing!" Teddy said promptly, and hastened to do as Professor Hill requested.

As her husband wistfully watched the boy depart the auditorium, Marian gazed at him with a glow in her eyes. As dear as his daughters were to him, she knew he had always secretly wondered what kind of father he would have been to a son. _Perhaps this time, he'll be able to find out,_ she thought with a small smile.

Marian decided it was high time she revealed herself. "Good afternoon, Harold," she said, stepping out of the shadows and walking down the center aisle.

Just as she was announcing her presence, Harold suddenly decided to call the boy back. "Teddy, if you could do just one more thing for me – "

But when Teddy turned and galloped back to Professor Hill, Harold was no longer looking at him. His attention was entirely fixed on Marian, a myriad of emotions flitting across his handsome face. First his eyes widened in astonishment at this unexpected meeting, and they grew wider still as he took in her Paris ensemble. As he stared at her, the love and longing he always regarded her with also stirred in his gaze, which darkened in dismay as he recalled the circumstances of their last parting. Marian would have spoken, but Harold's hurt soon faded into a deep sense of relief, which in turn gave way to exasperation – the same look he always gave her when she worked late at the library and forgot to notify him when she would be coming home. As Marian puzzled over this latter development, young Teddy Washburn broke the silence.

"You wanted me to do something else for you, Professor?" he asked, gazing at the adults with wary, uncertain eyes.

Harold paused for a moment, as if he was thinking quickly. Then he grinned and took a nickel out of his pocket. "Yes, son – after you're finished, go and have an ice cream sundae."

"Gee thanks, Professor Hill!" the boy said gleefully, and hastened to the music emporium's shop to help Tommy with the trumpets.

When Harold turned toward his wife again, his countenance was a model of detached nonchalance. Even though they were now alone, her husband looked at her in the mundane way he would have looked at anyone else in River City. "You wished to speak with me?"

Marian couldn't help being a bit chilled by his remote demeanor, even if she understood the reasons behind it. Still, she refused to let her husband's coolness unsettle her. "Shall we go into your office?" she suggested in a mild, pleasant voice.

His expression still betraying nothing but polite interest, Harold nodded his assent and motioned for her to follow him down the hall.

XXX

_A/N – Well, so much for quick updates; life got in the way again! I will refrain from making any promises as to when the next chapter will be posted, but I can say that I am hard at work and have made some great headway on it._


	6. Detente

Even after the office door had closed behind them, Harold gazed at Marian with a detached expression. Obviously, he was not inclined to make things easy for her in the slightest. Marian had carefully thought over what she wanted to say to her husband, but she hadn't realized how difficult it would be to deliver her loving words to a stone-faced man. Her resolve quailed, and she latched onto a much easier topic of conversation.

"So apparently, Teddy and Elly are making cow's eyes at each other," she said wistfully. "Seems like just yesterday our daughters were still learning how to walk – it's hard to believe they're growing up!"

Harold blinked, and she saw a flash of irritation in his eyes. With a pang, Marian realized she had lost her chance. But before she could think of how best to recapture her husband's attention, his expression turned inscrutable and, sitting down at his desk, he replied, "Indeed – children will do that."

Though his dismissal further dampened her sagging spirits, Marian tried again. "The girls missed you last night, Harold."

She thought she saw his shoulders hunch slightly. But when he spoke, it was with his usual casual ease. "So they told me," he concurred, seemingly engrossed in his work.

Once again, Marian lost her nerve. "I'm planning on trying my hand at chicken croquettes for dinner," she said brightly. "Ethel gave me the recipe this afternoon – she told me how much you liked them."

"How nice of her," Harold said absently, shuffling some papers.

Marian repressed a sigh – she was going to have to do a lot better than that if she wanted to gain her husband's forgiveness! "Penny and Elly weren't the only ones who missed you last night," she confessed, her voice quavering slightly as she allowed remorse to color her words. "I missed you, too."

Harold paused in his actions, and for a brief moment hope kindled in her heart. But that flame was quickly snuffed out when her husband set his shoulders squarely forward and resumed what he was doing.

Marian's pride got the better of her. "Harold, look at me," she commanded in the same no-nonsense tone she used to scold the twins.

Harold whirled around to face her, frustration and annoyance etched deeply into his face. It was such an abrupt departure from his reserved demeanor that her eyes widened and she took a small step back. "Forgive me, Harold," she said contritely, "I didn't mean to speak so sharply – "

But he didn't soften a single iota. "What do you want, Marian?" he asked baldly. "I'm busy right now, and you don't appear to have anything important to say. I'm not in the mood to engage in meaningless small talk, so either stop this incessant beating around the bush and get to your point, or leave me in peace!"

Marian's first impulse was to issue a scathing retort and depart his office but, for the sake of her unborn child, she quelled it. Still, struggling with her own hurt feelings, she didn't bother to soften her expression, or let happiness enter her voice as she bluntly replied, "Harold, I'm pregnant."

The papers Harold had been holding fell to the floor. As her husband goggled at her, Marian felt the perverse urge to laugh. During her first pregnancy, she had gone to such lengths to surprise him – only to discover he was already aware of her condition. Now, when she was completely and utterly straightforward about the matter, he was more shocked than she had ever seen him.

But as the seconds lengthened into minutes and Harold continued to stare speechlessly at her, looking like he didn't know whether he should be pleased or appalled by her news, Marian's amusement abated and she felt a lump form in her throat. She had informed him of her condition and, silver-tongued charmer though he was, he could find absolutely nothing to say in response – not even an insincere, "Congratulations."

As she started to tremble beneath his relentless gaze, Marian felt a resurgence of pride; she refused to stand there, her sense of vulnerability openly displayed before a man who no longer seemed capable of being tender with his wife. It was time for her to go. "Well, I suppose I should leave you alone now," she said softly, unable to conceal her disappointment at his underwhelming reaction. "I'm sure you're eager to get back to work – "

But as Marian started to turn away, Harold rose from his chair and pulled her into his arms. "Marian," he said with a voice full of pained remorse, and held her close.

He said no more than that. He didn't have to. In that one word, Marian heard the old love and longing, and her heart beat faster; perhaps she hadn't lost her husband, after all. With a sense of exhilarated relief, she nestled into Harold's embrace and let him comfort her with his soothing caresses. "Oh, Harold," she cried, "I know we agreed to have only two children, and for very good reasons. But I've always wished we could have more children together." She smiled, even as she felt herself well up with tears. "I've always hoped for the chance to give you a son… "

Overcome by a wave of dizziness – whether it was caused by her condition or heightened emotional state, she couldn't determine – Marian swayed in her husband's arms. Harold immediately tightened his grip and guided her to the nearby sofa before she swooned. Once she was safely seated, he retrieved a pitcher of water from his desk and poured her a glass.

"Thank you, Harold," Marian said gratefully. Having spent a good part of the day dealing with nausea and nervousness, she hadn't eaten or drank anything since breakfast.

As Marian slowly sipped her water, Harold took a seat next to her and watched her with concerned eyes. "How long have you been aware of your condition?"

"I've suspected this was the case for quite some time now," she admitted. "I haven't had my monthly courses since the beginning of May."

"I had wondered about that," Harold said, the stunned awe creeping back into his expression. "But pregnancy wasn't the first idea I had… "

Marian gazed at her husband with apologetic eyes. "I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to wait until Dr. Pyne confirmed my condition. And that didn't happen until earlier this afternoon." She paused. "I hope you're not too disappointed about this."

"Disappointed?" he exclaimed in an incredulous voice, as though he couldn't fathom how she could arrive at such a preposterous conclusion. "I said it the first time you were pregnant, and I'll say it again now: How could you think I'd be anything but overjoyed? There are few pleasures in life greater than being a father to our girls, and I've always wished we could have had more children, too. But I knew it wouldn't be wise; the last thing I wanted to do was leave you a widow with a large brood to care for." Discarding the remainder of his reserve, Harold reached out and took Marian's hands in his. "Any children we're blessed with, I'll wholeheartedly welcome – because they're _our _children, darling, conceived out of our love for each other," he said fervently, bringing her hands to his lips and bestowing tender kisses on her fingers.

The disconcerting sense of apprehension and shame that had been festering in Marian's heart and spoiling her joy fully dissipated and, once again, tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Oh, Harold… "

Harold sighed and lowered her hands, and Marian felt guilty for having misjudged his feelings on the matter. But before she could reassure him she had not gone so far as to doubt his devotion to her or their marriage, he quelled his chagrined expression – as he had so often during the past few months when she had let him down – and gave her a regretful smile. "I suppose I can't blame you for being uncertain," he allowed. "I'm not the most predictable husband a woman could have." He sighed again. "If I've added to your burdens in the past few months – and I know I have – I'm truly sorry for it."

Now that Harold was just as eager to make amends, Marian could have accepted his apology and closed the subject. But she had taken the easy way out for the past three months; it was time they talked things through. Giving her husband's hands a friendly squeeze, she said sincerely, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Harold – I'm the one who should be sorry. And I am; I truly am. Which brings me to the other reason I came to visit you today."

Harold gave her a lopsided grin that was laced with uncertainty. "What, do you have even more life-changing news for me?" he asked, attempting to make a joke.

Though she felt anything but lighthearted, Marian smiled at her husband. "Not today, darling. I want to talk about Paris."

Once again, Harold's countenance became a model of devil-may-care indifference. "Oh? What about Paris?" he asked, his voice carefully casual.

"I've been thinking a lot about my behavior over the past few months – not just in Paris, but when we returned to River City," she said, also making sure to keep her tone level. Harold immediately opened his mouth, as if to tell her it wasn't necessary to say anything more on the subject, but she pressed forward. "Please, Harold – I need to say these things. Last night, remember how you told me you loved me more than you did twelve years ago, and I said I wanted you just as much as I ever have?"

Harold nodded slightly, looking like he hardly dared breathe. Something like hope stirred in his eyes, but he sat mute and still, as if he was terrified of doing something that would break the tenuous spell of the moment.

"Well, in truth, I want you more." Now it was Marian who raised hands to lips for gentle kisses. "There is hardly a moment when we're together that I'm not anticipating you twining your arms around me… kissing me… making love to me. The reason I behaved the way I did that day in the train – and in Paris – is because I was tired of keeping those feelings bottled up. For the first time in my life, I had the opportunity to love you without restraint, so I did."

She paused for a moment to gauge her husband's reaction. Harold's eyes had fluttered shut and his head had tilted back as, captivated, he allowed her words and caresses to wash over him like a soothing balm. As if he sensed a resurgence of reticence on her part, he opened his eyes and fixed them upon hers, his avid expression a silent entreaty for her to continue.

After some hesitation – she was just about to reach the most difficult part of what she wanted to say – Marian went on, "And what I discovered in Paris frightened me. I never realized just how far I was willing to go to assuage my passion, not just in public, but in private as well. In Paris, that wasn't an issue. But in River City, there are too many eyes watching a woman. Knowing that I couldn't love you the way I did in Paris, I tried to return to our staid but comfortable lovemaking. But – I don't want that, Harold." She swallowed nervously. "I know I've been doing a poor job of loving you since we returned home – "

Harold interrupted her. "Marian, you're doing the best you can," he said firmly. "I know that; I've always known that. Believe me when I say that I've felt like such an ingrate during the past few months, asking you for more than you were able to give."

"You're a passionate man," Marian said understandingly, "and I am capable of loving you a whole lot better than I have been, as I clearly demonstrated in Paris." She sighed wistfully. "I may never have the skill of the sadder-but-wiser girl, but I needn't pretend I'm still a blushing rose."

Harold let out an incredulous laugh and tightened his grip on her hands. "Oh darling! Do you really imagine I still think fondly of such women? Let me tell you once and for all that the sadder-but-wiser girl went out of my head the moment I acknowledged I was in love with you! I didn't marry you despite the fact you weren't that type of girl, but because you weren't. I wanted _you_, Marian. Not a woman who would make love to me with as much cold, unfeeling skill as I made love to her." He sought her eyes with his, and she was astounded to see a mischievous twinkle in his gaze. "And besides, you seriously underrate your talents in that arena, darling."

Feeling self conscious and pleased all at once, Marian gazed at her husband with a tentative smile. "I do?"

Harold nodded and, for the first time since they had fought the night before, he gave her a genuine, unabashed grin. "You know, even back when you were a blushing rose, I thought you had a natural talent for lovemaking," he said in his low, velvety voice.

Marian's smile grew more confident as she shamelessly soaked up her husband's flattery. "Well, if that's the case, why didn't you tell me before?" she asked archly.

"I thought perhaps it might sound too crass, or remind you of certain realities about my prior experience that you weren't ready to acknowledge," he replied honestly, growing serious once more. "Marian, there's more to lovemaking than proficiency in mechanics – and that comes with experience. What you have can't be learned: an open heart and a passionate spirit. You loved me with such unpretentious, honest desire that it made me wonder why I had been wasting my time with mere lust. No woman has ever loved me as well or as generously as you." Harold's expression turned pensive, as if he was considering saying more, but then he lapsed into silence.

Marian's smile faded. "But then there was Paris," she said matter-of-factly.

"Paris, indeed," Harold concurred, his face aglow with nostalgia. "Paris was something else entirely. Earlier, you mentioned being free to love me without restraint – it was the same for me. For the first time in our marriage, I could fully let myself go in your arms. Before, there was always that element of self-control, of making sure I didn't frighten you with the intensity of my desire. But in Paris, we were equals; we could love each other as equals." He paused, and dismay crept back into his expression. "I wanted to continue loving you like that when we got home. But then you withdrew, and I wondered if perhaps you regretted your behavior – "

Marian wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him close. "Harold, Paris was one of the happiest times of my life," she said, looking him steadily in the eyes. "And I would do anything to recapture that happiness."

Normally, Harold would have given her a wicked grin and asked, "Anything?" in a bawdy voice, but he simply stared at her with the same shock as he had on that day on the train. Though they had never been averse to stealing a few moments together in his office when the opportunity presented itself – and more than a few of these clandestine embraces were quite heated – they had never completely abandoned propriety.

Marian sighed with good-natured exasperation – trust her unpredictable husband not to seize the opportunity when she granted him permission to take what liberties he pleased! But she supposed she couldn't blame Harold for his incredulity; after all, he knew just how empty mere words could prove. There had been enough talking; it was time for her to demonstrate her commitment to renewing their ardor. So without further ado, Marian tightened her embrace around her husband's neck and claimed his mouth with a kiss that was tender but still passionate enough to show him that she meant business.

Even though Harold unhesitatingly responded to her kiss and relaxed into her arms, he did not seem inclined to press forward with his usual passionate urgency. Marian wondered if perhaps she had misjudged the situation; perhaps even after their long discussion and her bold actions, Harold still wasn't ready to accept her overtures. Even though a part of her had expected this possibility, she couldn't contain her disappointment. Putting a quick stop to things, she said contritely, "I think I ought go home and check on the girls. I've taken up enough of your time this afternoon – "

But as Marian started to rise from the sofa, Harold pulled her into a fierce hug. "Marian, please don't think I don't want this as much as you do," he entreated. Cradling her head in his hands, he tilted it back so he could look at her, and she saw the warring emotions in his eyes. "It's just – I've been doing some thinking, too. As you've repeatedly reminded me over the past three months, we're not in Paris anymore. I would do well to remember that – "

They were interrupted by a knock at the office door. Harold exchanged a look with Marian, and she knew he was thinking the same thing: _Who was seeking out Professor Hill, at this hour?_

As Marian retrieved her hat, which had tumbled to the floor when Harold pulled her into his embrace, her husband smoothed the wrinkles out of his suit-coat. After arranging his features into a more composed expression, he cleared his throat and called out, "Come in."

The door swung open, and Marian and Harold turned to see Penny and Elly standing on the threshold, gazing at their parents with uncharacteristically timid expressions.

Harold spoke first. "Penny. Elly. What are you doing here?" Even though he had not used their full names, his voice held an element of warning.

"I forgot my math book," Penny explained, a guilty look in her eyes. "I can't practice my multiplication tables without my math book."

"Well, you could have shared your sister's math book," Harold pointed out.

Penny crumpled. "Dad, I swear we did go straight home, like you told us. But on the way, we heard people talking about how Mother was sick and the library was closed. So we went home even faster, but no one was there. We couldn't concentrate – we had to find out what happened. We looked everywhere – except the Candy Kitchen, because you told us we couldn't go there – but no one knew anything." Penny glanced at Marian. "It wasn't until we saw Teddy Washburn on his way to the Candy Kitchen that we found out you were here."

As Marian and Harold exchanged a slightly amused look, Elly spoke up. "Now that we've found you, Mother, we'll go home and practice our multiplication tables, just like Dad told us to," she promised, her meek expression a poignant plea that they be spared from further punishment. Taking her sister's hand, Elly began to pull her away.

"Penny – Elly," Harold called out in a gentle voice. As they turned back around, he slid off the couch and knelt on the floor, opening his arms to his daughters.

The girls eagerly ran to their father's embrace, just like they used to when they were little girls. "Dad, are you going to leave us?" Penny asked, sniffling.

Harold and Marian exchanged another look – this time, their expressions were shocked and dismayed. "Of course not," he replied in a firm but reassuring voice. "Where did you get such an awful idea?"

"Jenny Granger's dad up and left her family last year," Elly said sadly. "Then her mom went out and got a divorce so he could never come back." A sob made her pause for a moment and, when she resumed speaking, her voice was so quiet she was barely audible. "We thought maybe that's where you went, Mom… "

Marian's heart ached at the image of her poor, worried daughters searching all over town for their missing mother and thinking the worst – a frank chat with Amaryllis was in order, and soon. "I'm so sorry I frightened you like that, girls," she said earnestly, reaching over to give their blonde curls a motherly caress. "I was ill this morning, but I'm feeling much better now. And I would never divorce your father – ever."

"And I'm never going to leave you, or your mother," Harold added, tightening his arms around his daughters. "As I've told you before, adults get into fights just like children. That doesn't mean your mother and I don't love each other anymore. I love your mother very much." His eyes sought Marian's. "If it wasn't for her, my life would be a lonely, miserable existence."

"But you've been fighting a lot, lately," Elly said with the blunt honesty of a child. "Jenny said her parents fought like cats and dogs before her father left."

Harold shook his head. "That was a completely different situation. Mr. Granger made some bad decisions and, in the end, he decided to put his own selfish wishes above the welfare of his family. While it is true that your mother and I have been fighting a bit more often than usual, it wasn't over problems that couldn't eventually be worked out. Sometimes even the best of marriages go through rough patches."

Though Elly looked reassured, Penny still seemed skeptical that things had taken a turn for the better. "If you and Mom still love each other, when _are_ you coming home, Dad?" she asked in a forlorn voice.

"In a few hours," he promised, planting a kiss on each of their foreheads. "After all, I've got to drill you on your multiplication tables."

Penny smiled, and the usual expression of charming confidence resurfaced on her countenance. "If we get them all right, can we go to the Candy Kitchen to celebrate?" she ventured hopefully.

"Yes, can we please?" Elly echoed. "As a family outing, of course," she demurely amended, shooting a glance at her mother.

Harold chuckled and waggled a finger at his audacious daughters. "Don't think you can get off that easily, my little darlings. Tell you what – if you get top marks on your next two math tests in a row, your mother and I will take you out for sundaes and strawberry phosphates."

After making this announcement, Harold glanced at his wife, and Marian gave him an approving smile. It was a fair compromise, as it allowed him to back down from his perhaps too-harsh stance without losing face. Truth be told, she was rather impressed with his solution – especially when she saw the twins' reactions.

Though this still meant they wouldn't be able to go to their beloved Candy Kitchen for at least two weeks, the girls brightened. "Thanks, Dad!" Penny said gratefully. This time, she was the one to grab her sister's hand and pull her out of the office. "Come on, Elly, there's no time to waste!"

"Wait a minute, girls," Marian said impulsively. "I'll come with you."

As Penny and Elly dutifully halted to wait for their mother, she went and retrieved Penny's math book, which had indeed been lying on Harold's desk. Then she approached her husband, who gave her a questioning look.

But Marian simply smiled and, resting her hand lightly on Harold's shoulder, she leaned in and gently kissed him on the lips. "See you at home for dinner, darling," she said gaily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to behave this way.

Once again, Harold stared at her with stunned eyes. She hadn't kissed him in front of the girls in several years – citing the need to cultivate an example of proper decorum, the only affection Marian ever bestowed upon him while they were in the presence of their daughters was the brief, occasional handclasp.

But as always, he recovered beautifully. "I'll look forward to those chicken croquettes you mentioned earlier," Harold said with a grin.

Her cheeks slightly pink, Marian faced Penny and Elly – and saw they were blissfully unaware of the significance of what had transpired, as they had taken the opportunity the pause afforded them to begin drilling each other on their multiplication tables.

With a smirk, she turned back to look at Harold, whose eyes were also twinkling with amusement. But as they gazed at each other, their expressions grew solemn with longing and, even though it was already early evening, Marian reflected that the time she could finally be alone with her husband suddenly seemed a long way off.

Harold smiled wistfully at his wife. "Till tonight," he whispered. The girls, who were still chattering merrily away, didn't even twitch.

For the second time that day, a brilliant idea popped into Marian's head. But she did not immediately reveal her plans – though she gave her husband a sly, secret smile in return. "Till tonight," she softly agreed. Turning her attention to her daughters, Marian said in a louder voice, "Let's go, girls. Your father has a lot of work to complete before dinnertime… "


	7. Reconciliation

After Marian and the girls left for home, Harold returned to his desk. But he didn't do any work. Instead, he sat and drummed his hands lightly on the desk as he pondered all that had happened since his wife's unexpected visit to the emporium. And it was truly unexpected. In fact, Marian had not surprised him this much since – well, since Paris. After her frosty dismissal of his foolhardy but romantic gesture the night before, the last thing Harold would have predicted was for her to show up at his office wearing her elegant Chanel suit and humbly pleading for him to return home.

And even though he couldn't help being flattered by the all the effort she had gone to obtain his forgiveness, it had been more difficult than he anticipated to welcome her overtures. Certainly, Harold knew he was going to forgive his wife at some point. But he wasn't ready to do so just then. And if truth be told, he was rather irritated that Marian had once again managed to knock him off balance. He knew she had carefully selected her ensemble and her words to demonstrate her regret and deep love for him, but her appearance and demeanor had the unintended effect of irking Harold even more. During the past few months, Marian had been reticent to relive or even recall any of their lovemaking in Paris, and her sleek loveliness seemed to present a mocking reminder of what he had once enjoyed but could no longer have. In his hurt and frustration, Harold was determined to remain aloof even as Marian's seductive charms made his heart beat faster – after months of disappointment, he wasn't about to simply surrender to her embrace.

Then Marian had revealed her pregnancy. And Harold's cold façade had crumbled as he beheld his wife – his darling, his dear little librarian, the woman he loved more than life itself – standing teary-eyed before him, trembling with uncertainty and desperate for reassurance that he still cared. Only the most heartless of men could have turned their back on such a poignant spectacle and, even in the days when he had been a charlatan and a cad, he lacked the nerve to be completely callous to a weeping woman. So Harold had capitulated and taken Marian in his arms. As he held her, he ruefully remembered how on their wedding day, he promised himself he would never swerve in his efforts to make her happy, even if their fervor dimmed. And what was he doing now that their fervor had dimmed a little? Sulking in his office like a spoiled child because Marian had insisted – and for the most part, quite rightly – on maintaining a certain decorum once they returned to River City. And as thrilled as Harold was about becoming a new father once more, Marian's condition was a compelling reminder that they couldn't go on behaving exactly the way they had in Paris – lest he leave her a widow with a large brood to care for, after all.

And if that wasn't enough – if Harold's head wasn't already swimming as he attempted to begin the arduous process of reassessing his plans for their family's continued security – Marian had clearly and unequivocally expressed her deep desire for him, saying things that previously she had only dared to confess in heated whispers as they made love. Not only that, she had boldly attempted to initiate a passionate tryst right there on the sofa – and it was all Harold could do to refrain from taking her up on that offer. Given the sudden arrival of their daughters, it was just as well that he didn't. But when Marian kissed him goodbye, right in front of Penny and Elly, Harold sorely regretted the lost opportunity – and had strongly considered asking his wife to send the girls home and linger with him a little while longer. It was several hours until bedtime and, even though their daughters' keen ears would be less of a concern then, he and Marian would still have to stifle their cries of passion in the darkness and silence of the night.

_But_, Harold thought with a grin as a delightful scheme took shape in his mind, _that doesn't mean there won't be a few pleasant surprises in store for you this evening, my dear little librarian._ Shaking himself out of his amazed stupor – a little over an hour had passed since Marian and the twins' departure – Harold brushed some extraneous paperwork into a desk drawer and set off for home. But first, he made a stop at the Candy Kitchen to request a favor from Ed Langford, the establishment's amiable and obliging proprietor and fountain clerk.

XXX

When Harold arrived home, his primary concern was downplaying the significance of the parcel he was carrying, lest Marian or the girls prematurely discover his scheme. So when no one was waiting to greet him, his immediate impulse was to be grateful for the opportunity to stow his surprise safely in the front-hall closet. It wasn't until he had completed this task that he noticed something was amiss.

It was the distinct absence of bustling activity that alerted Harold. Penny and Elly were rarely this quiet. Even when they weren't talking, they were constantly on the move; fidgeting and giggling and rustling their homework papers the way boisterous children do. And after what had happened this afternoon, Harold thought the girls would be rushing to greet their father the moment he returned home. Marian was also curiously absent – even after twelve years of marriage, she always paused in what she was doing and came to greet him with a kiss if they were alone, and a smile if Penny and Elly were present (given her actions at the emporium earlier, the latter circumstance was likely to begin meriting a kiss as well, which made it doubly strange that Marian had not immediately come into the front hall to welcome him home).

Harold would have been worried, but for the soft strains of music emanating from the parlor. Something sultry and jazzy – and vaguely familiar – was playing on the Victrola. The seductive little tune immediately brought to mind all the evenings in Paris he and Marian had spent necking in dim, smoky corners of nightclubs and cabarets, teasing and tantalizing each other until, in a blissful and often tipsy haze, they abandoned their outing in favor of retreating to the privacy of their hotel.

With these pulse-quickening memories in mind, Harold hastened into the parlor. Even though he had a good idea of what he would find once he entered the room, his feet ground to a halt and his breath caught in his throat when his gaze fell upon the lithe form of his wife.

Marian was wearing _the_ dress. The sleeveless sapphire tulle evening gown with deep v-neck and beaded torso that put even her fetching red dress of former years to shame – and drove Harold absolutely wild. Even in the relaxed atmosphere of Paris, Marian had been embarrassed to wear this gown in public; he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her in it.

As if her ensemble wasn't enchanting enough on its own, Marian had lit a fire in their fireplace and was standing by the hearth. When Harold entered the room, she turned to face him, a vision of loveliness artfully backlit by the soft glow of the flames. The iridescent sequins on her gown sparkled and flashed as they caught the light, and her alabaster skin gleamed like porcelain.

Normally, Harold would have had a response ready; perhaps a teasing remark about it being a little early in the season to light the fireplace – despite the skimpiness of her gown and the slight chill of the evening air – or a flirtatious invitation for her to make use of his arms as a shawl. But he couldn't even manage a roguish grin, let alone engage in clever banter. Although Harold had always dreamed of Marian surprising him with a more sensual greeting than usual, he had never dared to hope for this level of concupiscence. It was as if every fantasy he harbored for the past three months had sprung to life right before his eyes; all he could do was stand there and goggle at his wife.

As Harold silently took in the scene before him, Marian regarded him with a kind but knowing smile. "Welcome home, darling," she said calmly, coming over to him and giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. Still too spellbound to think clearly, Harold kissed her back just as softly. But when Marian moved away, the seductive scent of her _Evening in Paris_ perfume continued to linger and bewitch his senses, and he had to restrain himself from pulling his wife back into his arms. Even as promising as the situation appeared, the last thing Harold wanted to do was spoil the mood by being too incautious; there were a few things he had to know before he proceeded full steam ahead.

"Where are the girls?" he asked conversationally as his wife took him by the arm and guided him to the sofa.

Marian gave him that sly, sideways glance of hers. "Mama kindly offered to take Penny and Elly for the night," she replied with a deliciously low, dusky note in her voice that left no doubt as to her amorous intentions.

But even then, Harold hesitated. "And the girls went, just like that?" he marveled. "After everything that happened this afternoon, I would have thought they'd insist on personally witnessing their father's return home!"

Marian let out a throaty laugh. "They did – at first," she admitted. "But once they learned Mama was planning to work on the confections for the Events Committee's fundraiser on Saturday, they were more than eager to lend their assistance."

Harold couldn't help chuckling at his wife's charming wiles. "So much for drilling them on their multiplication tables," he teased. "Who's spoiling our daughters now, Madam Librarian?"

"I'm simply trying to even the score, Professor Hill," Marian replied archly. Straddling Harold's lap and wrapping her arms around his neck, she claimed his mouth in a kiss that was just as ardent and straightforward as the one she had given him earlier in his office. Marian's embrace rendering him as helpless as it ever did, Harold kissed her hungrily in return. Any lingering apprehensions about uninhibitedly surrendering to his desires were drowned in the upswell of sheer longing and need that coursed through him. He wanted Marian. And he wanted this. He wanted to stay on the sofa and make furious, passionate love to his wife until they collapsed, gasping and sated, in each other's arms. And then, when they had sufficiently recovered from their exhaustion, he wanted to sweep her into another embrace, carry her upstairs to their bed and spend the rest of the night engaged in tender demonstrations of just how much he adored her. Still, ever mindful of Marian's condition – he could feel the roundness of her stomach and the fullness of her breasts even through the layers of his suit-coat and dress shirt – Harold was determined to be patient, and allowed his wife to set the pace of their lovemaking.

But as Marcellus Washburn might have said, it wasn't easy. As Harold contemplated the blissful evening he and Marian had in store, he became acutely aware that his clothing was now a bit too constricting in several places – an irritating but vaguely pleasant feeling – and when Marian unfastened his necktie and collar so she could nibble at his neck, and continued to unbutton her way down his shirt, he sighed with relief as well as pleasure. While she continued her ministrations, his wandering hands found the warmth of her naked back. Tracing delicate patterns with his fingers, Harold's lips curved in a satisfied smile that was soon lost in a groan as Marian shivered and pressed her body closer to his. As his mouth sought hers for another heated kiss, he trailed his hands down her sides and caressed her thighs, delighting in the feel of her soft curves against him as she moaned into his mouth and pressed even closer.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Harold groped for the hem of Marian's gown and slid his hands beneath it. In his addled state, he caressed her calves and thighs in an intent, almost desperate, search for her stockings and garters – and a few bewildering moments passed before he realized that he was touching only bare skin. Stunned, Harold broke their kiss and looked his wife in the eyes.

Marian responded to his questioning gaze with her sly, mischievous smile. In return, Harold regarded his wife with an awed grin and, eager to explore this pleasant turn of events further, moved his hands in light, languorous strokes up her thighs. But before he could get to where he was headed, Marian slid off his lap until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him.

Harold chuckled at his wife's coquettishness. "Oh, you are a tease, Madam Librarian," he admonished.

"Indeed, Professor Hill?" Marian replied in a mock-offended voice. Her eyes never leaving his, she gave him a small, challenging smile and began to unbuckle his belt.

Normally, Harold would have been more than happy to let his wife proceed, but he didn't feel entirely comfortable with this situation. As much as he was enjoying the sensation of Marian's nimble fingers brushing against his groin as she undressed him, Harold couldn't entirely ignore the prickling of his conscience. At any other time, he would have unhesitatingly welcomed his wife's bold overtures, but now her condition was first and foremost in his mind. And it felt a bit too risky for comfort to be encouraging her engagement in activities that could potentially be injurious to her health – such as kneeling overlong on thinly carpeted floors. But when Marian began to remove his trousers, Harold did not say one word in protest; on the contrary, he found himself lifting his body to make things easier for her.

However, when Marian stroked her way up his bare thighs in the same languid manner as he had caressed hers earlier, Harold placed his hands over hers. "Marian," he said, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper, "perhaps we ought to continue this in more comfortable surroundings… "

"Oh, I'm quite comfortable here, darling," Marian assured him with a twinkle in her eyes. When he didn't respond, her expression grew solemn and she gazed thoughtfully at her husband. "What's the matter, Harold?"

Clasping her hands in his, Harold rose to his feet and pulled her to stand with him. "Marian," he said seriously, "as I mentioned in my office before we were interrupted, I've been doing some thinking. As much as I want you, it's important for me to remember that we aren't in Paris anymore. Gossip is going to come down a lot harder on you than it is on me, even though I tend to be the one who initiates our public displays of affection."

Marian looked touched. "Thank you for that, Harold," she said softly. "In return, I promise to arrange more opportunities for us to be alone together – which is why I've settled things with Amaryllis that she and Winthrop will start taking Penny and Elly one night a week, and we'll take Rose for a night in return."

Once again, Harold completely lost track of what he was going to say, and could only gape at his wife. Even after Marian's sweetly earnest confession of longing, he couldn't help wondering if her intense amorousness was partly a result of her condition – she had been quite desirous of his caresses during her first pregnancy – but this unequivocally demonstrated her commitment to renewing their ardor. Ever since the birth of their daughters, Harold had always been the one to make such arrangements, and Marian was content to let him take the lead. Now, she was the one who was boldly making plans for the future – and he found this utterly bewitching.

But Harold paused for too long. After a few moments, Marian gave him that alluring smile of hers and drew nearer, clearly intent on continuing her seduction. Realizing that words alone would not be eloquent enough to convince his wife to retire upstairs, Harold leaned in to bestow a delicate kiss on her ear and said in his low, velvety voice, "Let me look at you, Marian."

With an obliging nod, Marian took a step back and slowly – almost maddeningly – slipped the straps of her gown down her shoulders, until her dress finally fell to the floor. A wave of desire washed over Harold as he saw she was indeed wearing nothing beneath her gown, but he suppressed the temptation to pull her onto the sofa with him. Placing his hands gingerly on Marian's hips, as if she was a sugar-spun pastry that might crumble beneath his touch if he wasn't careful, Harold knelt in front of his wife. Gazing reverently at the gentle swell of her stomach, he caressed the stretch marks from her first pregnancy, first with his hands and then with his lips. Trailing his mouth across her abdomen, Harold came to a rest when he reached her navel, and planted a gentle kiss upon it.

"My dear little librarian," he murmured, "if it wasn't for your condition, I'd make love to you right here. In fact, I would gladly have made love to you in my office – "

"I was rather disappointed you didn't," Marian interjected, her voice just as breathy as his. Placing her hands on his head, she raked her fingers through his rich brown locks, which made him shudder with pleasure and tighten his grasp around her hips.

Harold quickly rose to his feet, sidestepping temptation once again. "Darling, I spent the night on that couch, and it wasn't kind to my back," he said with a chuckle. "It's certainly no place for a proper reconciliation, especially with your condition to think of. And our parlor sofa is only marginally more comfortable." He kissed Marian's cheek in a chaste, gentlemanly manner. "Your well being, and that of our child, is far more important to me than any pleasure."

Harold hoped his heartfelt words would move his wife to suggest taking things to their bedroom, but instead of looking flattered by his thoughtfulness, as she had earlier, she now seemed miffed: Marian bit her lip, and there was a flash of frustration and dismay in her eyes. Harold's first inclination was to offer her a soothing remark but then, with a start, he realized she looked exactly the way he had felt during the past few months. Even after everything his wife had said and done today, he had stubbornly and idiotically clung to the belief that her actions were primarily fueled by her condition, or regret over hurting him, or perhaps even a sense of desperation that she would lose him. But now he knew, really knew, that Marian _did_ want this.

Once again, Harold paused for too long; Marian's shoulders slumped and she sighed. "Harold, when you told me that you wanted me to just be your wife, I took your words to heart. No matter how many children we have, I never intend to forget the importance of just being your wife." She bowed her head, and her voice was laced with blushing uncertainty as she continued, "But perhaps you're right, perhaps this isn't the best time or place for this – "

"Marian," Harold interrupted, his own voice heavy with emotion, "this is one debate I'm more than happy to lose."

Marian's head immediately snapped up and she beamed at him, her eyes shining with joy and relief as he reached out and caught her in his arms. Nothing more was said as Harold's mouth covered hers and he pressed insistently forward, losing himself in the beguiling sensation of her bare thighs against his and the passionate haste with which she removed his dress shirt and remaining underclothes. When he was finally free of these encumbrances, Harold tumbled back onto the parlor sofa and pulled Marian on top of him. Heated whispers soon gave way to low, wordless moans, which built to a wailing crescendo as soprano and baritone mingled in a stirring symphony of unabashed ecstasy. And Harold knew that in all his life, he had never heard nor would ever hear a sweeter sound.

XXX

When silence once again descended upon the parlor, Harold and Marian continued to lie on the sofa, happily entwined in one another's arms. Though Harold's back ached and his stomach was beginning to rumble with hunger, he did not move, except to languidly caress his wife's disheveled blonde curls. Letting out a deep, contented sigh, Marian nestled even closer to him and closed her eyes. With a sated smile, Harold continued to play with her hair, gazing idly at the flames crackling in the fireplace and listening to the low, steady breathing of his sleeping wife, until his own eyelids grew heavy and he began to drift off as well.

Harold wasn't sure how long he lingered in that delightful place between drowsy daydreams and genuine slumber, but when Marian stirred and shifted her position, he was immediately awakened by the highly unpleasant sensation of his wife's chin digging into his shoulder.

Gently, so as not to disturb Marian, Harold gave her a little nudge in an attempt to influence her to move into a position that was more amenable to his comfort, but this only succeeded in causing her to squirm in his embrace and dig her chin even deeper into his shoulder. Wincing and fidgeting himself, Harold couldn't repress a grunt of pain.

Marian's eyes fluttered open and she lifted her head from his shoulder. "Harold?" she asked in groggy alarm. "Are you all right?"

Though his back still ached and he was growing more famished by the minute, Harold gave her a merry grin. "I am now, darling," he assured her.

In return, Marian smiled indulgently and clucked her tongue at him. "Harold, you're clearly uncomfortable, however bravely you're pretending otherwise. And you're starving – I can feel your stomach rumbling." Gently disentangling herself from his embrace, she eased herself into a sitting position. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I didn't want to disturb you," Harold admitted sheepishly. Stretching out his sore limbs, he sat up and regarded his wife with a fatigued but affectionate smile. "Now that we're both awake, what say we get dressed and I'll take you out for dinner?"

Marian's expression turned mischievous once more. "I've already made arrangements for that, darling." Rising from the sofa, she retrieved a pale pink satin-and-lace peignoir and a navy blue flannel bathrobe from the arm of his favorite wingback chair. As she donned her peignoir and handed him his robe, Harold once again marveled at his wife's careful attention to detail – and how he had failed to notice the presence of these garments before, he couldn't figure. Once they were both suitably clad, Marian disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve their dinner.

To Harold's delight, Marian had indeed made chicken croquettes, and they came out marvelously. As the two of them lolled about on the sofa eating the excellent meal she had prepared, Harold recalled all the wonderfully decadent mornings they shared together in Paris, when they had breakfast delivered to their room and did not get out of bed until early afternoon.

When they had finished with dinner, Marian gathered up their dishes and went back into the kitchen. Now was the perfect time to put his own secret scheme into action; with a grin, Harold went into the front hall and retrieved the parcel he had brought home.

He had been hoping to have everything ready for Marian before she finished cleaning up in the kitchen, but to his surprise, he found his wife waiting for him in the parlor. "You're done with the dishes already?" he marveled.

She gave him a sunny smile. "I simply soaked the dishes. I thought it a fair compromise." Her expression turned curious. "What do you have there, Harold?"

"A little gift for you, my dear," he said affectionately. Unwrapping the parcel, Harold pulled out a bottle of red liquid and two glasses. Marian's eyes widened, but he quickly explained, "It's not wine, Marian – it's strawberry phosphate. Ed kindly agreed to bottle some for me, and he even included two glasses." He chuckled. "I thought we might as well get a head start on satisfying your cravings."

Marian still said nothing, but continued to stare at him with an inscrutable expression.

Harold started to grow uneasy. "Rest assured, darling, I disposed of the wine," he averred. What he didn't tell Marian was that he had given the Pinot Noir to Ed in exchange for the strawberry phosphate, as the man had never been averse to enjoying a fine wine before Prohibition outlawed such pleasures; he figured it wasn't something she strictly needed to know. "Expensive as it was, it wasn't worth ruining our marriage over." He gave his wife a fond smile. "Shall I pour you a glass of strawberry phosphate, darling?"

Marian burst into tears. Alarmed, Harold put the bottle down on an end table next to the sofa and took his wife in his arms. "What is it, Marian?" he asked tenderly, smoothing a few curls from her cheek.

Marian started to speak, but she was sobbing too much for him to understand what she was saying. It wasn't until she began to calm down a bit that Harold could discern her words: " – and I can't believe how awful I was to you! I should never have scolded you like that."

"It was a rather foolish risk I took in smuggling the wine across the borders," Harold conceded. "I should have at least consulted you about it."

But Marian refused to be comforted. "How could I have been so thoughtless?" she cried, clinging to him and burying her face in his shoulder. "Dismissing the romance of your gesture and calling you a bootleg smuggler!"

"Lowlife bootleg smuggler," he reminded her, a teasing smile playing around the edges of his lips.

"I have been terribly cold to you these past few months," Marian said with a sniffle. Recovering her composure, she straightened into a more upright sitting position and brushed the remaining tears from the corners her eyes. "I apologize for my outburst, Harold. But seeing that bottle of strawberry phosphate – it reminded me how close I came to losing you." She let out a long sigh. "And all because of my darn Iowa stubbornness! I shudder to think what would have become of us, if it wasn't for my condition."

Harold's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, and his heart flip flopped in his chest. After all these years, was it really possible that she still felt that twinge of uncertainty, that unspoken fear that he was going to leave her? Placing two fingers under Marian's chin, he lifted her head until she was facing him. "Marian," he said in a low, incredulous voice, "I hope you don't think I only came home because of your condition."

"Of course not," she immediately responded – though she averted her eyes from his questioning gaze. "But if I hadn't had that news to share, would you have forgiven me?" Marian paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice had grown extremely quiet; Harold had to strain to hear her. "I saw how angry you were, Harold."

"Marian," he began, feeling his throat tighten, "do you know how terribly worried I was about you today? When I heard you had closed the library, I started sending my students on errands all over town, to discover your whereabouts. I even sent Penny and Elly home once or twice. But no one knew where you were. Do you know how much self-restraint it took to prevent me from tearing out of the emporium and rushing around town myself, looking for you? And then suddenly you showed up unannounced, wearing a dress I haven't seen you in since Paris. I honestly didn't know what to make of things."

"Forgive me, Harold, for making you worry," Marian said contritely. "After I recovered from my nausea this morning, I visited Dr. Pyne, and then spent a few hours at my mother's. When I came home to freshen up before going to the emporium to tell you the news, Mrs. Shinn and her ladies dropped by for an unannounced visit. I couldn't get rid of them until over an hour had passed."

But Harold wasn't finished. "Even if all that hadn't happened, I was planning on coming home for dinner after all, to see if we couldn't work things out. I know I implied I was only going to send the girls home in the note I left you, but I didn't really mean it." He paused and took her hands in his. "When I saw you this morning, curled up fast asleep and holding my pillow close, it took all my willpower not to climb into bed with you."

Marian's eyes glistened in the light. "Why didn't you, Harold?" she asked softly.

"I wasn't sure you would welcome me," he said bluntly. "And I was angry with you, angrier than I wanted to admit." His throat tightened even more, and he swallowed. "You and Penny and Elly are my life, Marian. Even if you weren't pregnant, I would have come home to you. I can't imagine living without you, nor would I ever want to." By now, Harold was stammering, but he went on anyway. "Marian – you are not going to lose me," he said brokenly. "I was afraid I was losing you – "

Marian immediately pulled him close. "You will never lose me, Harold," she avowed. "And I never meant to imply your devotion was waning, or lacking. I only meant that any man would have difficulty putting up with such treatment from his wife. I said it wrong because I'm out of sorts – last night and all today was so terribly lonely without you. Nothing's _right_ without you, Harold." She clung tightly to him, her damp cheek against his. "Oh, Harold – I hate it when we fight."

Though her soothing words and caresses had assuaged his dismay, Harold still didn't trust himself to speak without his voice shaking. Finding Marian's mouth with his, he pressed heated kisses against her lips, silently but eloquently demonstrating just how much he concurred with that sentiment. As she passionately responded to his embrace, Harold was tempted to make love to her on the sofa again, but the twinge in his back warned him against it. So he simply held his wife close until, breathless, they ended their kiss and gazed adoringly into each other's eyes.

By now, Harold had completely recovered his composure. "So Madam Librarian," he said with a mischievous grin, "are you planning to display that backless evening gown of yours at the Events Committee's Parisian fashion show?"

Marian let out a scandalized laugh. "Harold, of course not! Could you just imagine the heart attacks Mrs. Shinn and the others would have if they ever saw it?" She laughed again, and shook her head. "I'm not planning to show that particular gown to anyone but you."

Harold chuckled and moved his hands across Marian's back in a gentle caress. The creamy satin of her peignoir felt delightfully cool and smooth against his fingers. "You also have several lovely pieces of French lingerie, as I recall," he said with just a hint of suggestiveness. "Lingerie that has been sitting in trunks, sadly neglected."

"Is that a request for a personal fashion show, Professor Hill?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Not at all, Madam Librarian," he said nonchalantly – though his eyes twinkled with shameless desire. Letting his arms fall back to his sides, Harold gestured toward the end table. "Well, what say we drink the strawberry phosphate before it goes flat?"

Marian regarded him with an enigmatic smile. "Strawberry phosphates aren't what I'm craving right now, darling," she said coyly.

Harold grinned. "Well then, what are you craving, my dear little librarian?" he asked, playing naïve.

"I need a second opinion," she replied, sounding just as innocent as he. "As you so helpfully pointed out, I do have a lot of Paris ensembles, and not all of them will be appropriate for the Events Committee fashion show."

Harold nodded. "It will take hours to go through everything," he said meaningfully. "It might even take all night."

Marian gave him that alluring sideways glance of hers. "Bring the strawberry phosphate for later," she whispered into his ear just before she rose from the sofa. As she walked toward the stairwell, Harold got up to grab the bottle and glasses. He turned just in time to see his wife going up the stairs in a sauntering gait, her hips swaying in a way that made him want to grab her by the waist and press her against the wall – bedroom be damned. But there would be time enough for that after next February; years and years of time in which they could fully explore their renewed passion for each other.

As Harold watched Marian toss an inviting glance at him over her shoulder just before she disappeared down the hall to their bedroom, he grinned. _This is Paris_, he thought, and hastened upstairs to join his charming wife.


End file.
